


They Grow Up So Fast

by IveJustGotOne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babylock, Character Death, Gen, Infant Death, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidlock, M/M, Magic, Medical Procedures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 68,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IveJustGotOne/pseuds/IveJustGotOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes one morning to find he's aquired a 6 month old boy and lost a 6 foot tall detective...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I’ll start by thanking you for taking the time to even clicking on this fic. I’ll also add that this is my first ff for this fandom so pretty please be kind. I’ve written many fics before but I’ve never actually published. What came over me that gave me the courage to publish this one…I wouldn’t know. My first language is not English and though I think I have a relatively good hold of it, I am more than certain you will find some grammatical and possibly (though I hope not) even some spelling errors. Sorry…there’s only so much proofreading I can do before I end up doing my head in.
> 
> As far as the fic goes it was inspired by some incredible art works of two different people that I came across on Tumblr. Some may find the characters a little off from what we know them to be however I beg you understand that this scenario would change their behaviour if only a little…that and to be honest I’ve given myself some liberties. There are certainly some holes in the story that I myself could point out and I do sincerely apologize for them. And though I have used the “wholock” tag, The Doctor really just makes a ‘guest appearance’ if you wish. The story is heavily BBC Sherlock.
> 
> Lastly, and I’m sorry for being so longwinded….thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it!

He woke up with a splitting headache and a degree of nausea. He was in his own bed which was a plus but how he’d gotten there was a mystery. Blinking a few times against the offending sunlight coming through the window he came to rest an arm over his eyes and took some measured breaths. He was just about ready to work himself up into a sitting position when –

‘PLOP’

He felt the impact of small hands against his nose and mouth.

Startled he looked to his side and immediately frowned.

“What?”

There, sitting on his bed wrapped in nothing but a grey shirt that he knew belonged to Sherlock was a beautiful baby boy. He put him at around 6 to 7 months old. Black curls covered his little round head and a gorgeous set of blue eyes stared back at him curiously.

John looked around the room for a second before looking back at the baby…

“Where did you come from?”

*****

As well as he could manage, he carried the child out of the room and headed downstairs, stumbling, closing his eyes and leaning onto walls every now and then but holding it together all the same. He couldn’t say for certain if this was the result of an incredible night out or something else altogether. 

“Sherlock?” barely a hoarse whisper came out of him as he reached the kitchen having found the living room empty but taken notice of Sherlock’s coat and scarf on the sofa.

The child in his arms ‘spoke’ up, so to speak. It didn’t last very long. Maybe a sentence or two, of which John caught; Joh, Ba, Du, Ta, Eh and something that sounded a lot like Myhh.

Slightly amused he continued his inspection walking into Sherlock’s bedroom and finding it untouched. He searched the bathroom. Same luck.

Shifting the child from his left hip to his right, he went in search of his mobile phone.

His search ended at the coffee table where he not only found his phone…but Sherlock’s too…

There was something terribly wrong about that. Sherlock was never without his phone. Never. Ever… _ever_.

He found no texts or missed calls on his phone and the same went for Sherlock’s. His fear for the detective’s welfare was increasing by the second.

Leaving the flat he raced downstairs to find Mrs Hudson, ignoring the pounding in his head.

“Mrs Hudson!” he called out as he knocked on her door.

“Oh. Hello dear. Oh who’s this beauty?” she asked immediately taken by the baby boy and reaching up to play with his curls and chubby cheeks.

“Wish I knew,” stated John a little distracted. “This is going to sound weird but…is Sherlock here?”

“Oh, no darling. Has he run off again?”

“I’m not sure…” he stated frankly quite confused

“Oh, he _is_ a sweetheart,” continued Mrs Hudson enthralled by the baby. “Can I hold him?”

“Um. Sure I guess,” said John attempting to peel the baby boy off of him however the little creature was having none of that. He held onto John’s shirt with a vice-like grip and for the first time since their encounter he screamed into John’s chest clearly refusing to let go of him.

“I guess not,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he continued as he adjusted the child against his hip again.

“Oh that’s alright. He’s a shy little one isn’t he? But whose is he? Are you babysitting today?”

John sighed worriedly; “When I said I wish I knew who he is…I actually meant it.”

Mrs Hudson’s expression immediately changed to a more concerned one.

Being in no position to answer questions right now, John interjected before any of her thoughts could be voiced; “You know what, I have to go make a call. If you hear from Sherlock at all can you please let me know?”

“Of course.”

The mystery deepened and John liked this less and less.

Returning back upstairs he took his phone again, quickly searched for Lestrade and placed a call.

All the while the little boy quietly laid his head in the nook of John’s neck looking quite content with being carried here and there so long as John was doing said carrying.

“Lestrade!”

“Hey.”

“Hey…is Sherlock with you by any chance?”

“No. Last I saw him was Tuesday with you. Why?”

John’s frown deepened and his hands were suddenly sweating cold.

“John,” prompted Lestrade

John either ignored Lestrade’s query or was simply too distracted to catch it; “So he hasn’t contacted you at all?”

“No. Why? What’s going on?”

“Um. Nothing. Nothing….I hope. Hey uh...I’ll call you later ok. Thanks,” John quickly hung up.

Looking completely perplexed he whispered into the empty room; “where the hell are you?...and where did _you_ come from?” looking down at his charge.

It was no more than a split second but, as the boy lifted his head, as if knowing he was being spoken to or rather _at_ and meeting John’s eyes…there was something. Something that made John shiver.

Quickly looking away he figured there was one more person he could try…but the mere thought was ‘ughhhhh’ inducing; “God. Sherlock. You made me,” he whispered as he held his phone and opened the messages icon.

He had not even begun to type when the doorbell rang.

Much against his better knowledge he whispered; “That had better be you saying you forgot your keys and everything else too.” 

Leaving his phone on the counter, he headed for the door.

“Where the hell have you…Mycroft!”

None other was waiting on the other side.

“Wow. I was actually just about t…” he had to pause at the look on Mycroft’s face; shock.

“Mycroft,” John prompted

“What did he do to him?” whispered Mycroft with clear agitation in his voice looking at the child like some sort of impossibility.

John looked down at the boy and then back up at Mycroft. He knew the Holmes brothers well enough by now and if there was something they never let on was their emotions…yes those silly things they both denied ever having but John knew better.

The boy who had lifted his little head at the commotion burst into giggles at the sight of Mycroft.

“Wait! Stop! Who did what to whom?” asked John trying to gain a bit of reasoning in all this. “Do you know this baby?”

Mycroft didn’t say more but instead stepped inside without tearing his eyes from the boy and letting the door shut behind them.

“Mycroft,” John continued softly almost afraid of causing some sort of damage to the man in the state he was clearly in.

What happened next made John go cold. Mycroft with the utmost care took the boy from John’s arms. And unlike before this time the boy quietly allowed the man to take him.

Mycroft held him with both hands just under his little armpits leaving them almost face to face. Little legs dangling as little hands reached out for Mycroft’s face.

John couldn’t help it but the sight was making him…dizzy actually…though that might have been the migraine.

What the hell was happening?

“Mycroft. Please tell me what’s going on?” he was reduced to a whispered plea.

“Doctor Watson,” he started slowly. “Has my brother ever mentioned…” he seemed to struggle to get the next words out. “The doctor?”

“The doctor?”

“Yes. _The_ doctor.”

Being a doctor himself and moreover being _Sherlock’s_ doctor since the first day they met, John would have felt a twinge of jealousy and even anger at hearing of another doctor and worst still being emphasized as _the_ doctor who had some kind of connection with Sherlock. Of course at this very moment he had more immediate things to be concerned about.

“No. No he never mentioned any _doctor_. At least not that I remember.”

“Well you’re about to meet him. Because he owes me a very serious explanation,” stated Mycroft regaining his very matter-of-factly tone.

The child who was carefully handed back to John attempted as well as he could to wrap his little arms around his neck but ended up just gripping onto his shirt collar.

Mycroft had made it as far as his vehicle when John stopped him in his tracks; “Wait! No!” Quickly putting a hand over the car’s door handle impeding Mycroft’s getaway; “No! What is going on? Who is this kid and where is Sherlock?”

Mycroft looked at him almost incredulously and then looked at the child; “I thought you of all people would know my brother better than that.”

John was frankly very insulted and hurt by that. His simmering anger very clear as he stepped a little closer to Mycroft and replied with a degree of bite in his voice; “I know your brother probably better than you Mycroft, but right now is _not_ the time.” Taking a deep breath he tried to control himself and continued with a little more patience. “Where is Sherlock? At least tell if he’s ok?”

John was expecting a strong response from Mycroft, perhaps a shot to the head whilst they were at it, but instead he got the toned down and controlled voice of a man who seemed to know so much but let on very little; “Doctor Watson. Sherlock is where he always is. At home. Clinging to one person in this world that he trusts.”

Without another word Mycroft got into the vehicle and was driven away, leaving John standing on the footpath, carrying a baby, carrying a headache…and missing a 6-foot detective.

Unless…

John was a very smart man. He truly was. And at this very moment the chaos in his mind, the pounding, the racing, the shouting and screaming confusion…came to a grinding halt and an absolute silence….

With a heavy realization he looked down at the baby in his arms who mirrored his action and looked up at John…

And there it was.

That look. Those eyes.

They couldn’t be anyone else’s.

Those gorgeous eyes.

Those beautiful curls.

John lifted his hand almost in fear and ran it over the baby’s soft curls to which the child reacted by letting his eyes slip shut for a second…

“Sherlock?” John asked meeting the boy’s eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback!! I really appreciate it!!  
> This chapter is a little long I admit but the more I read it the less I wanted to split it. It seemed to flow and I just couldn't find anywhere that felt right to split. The next will probably be much shorter.  
> Thank you again! :)

He stared at the ringing object, arms crossed and with a look of cautious defiance knowing full well who was on the other end of the line.

“Are you going to answer that?” asked Clara who had been watching for a few minutes now this match of wills between the Doctor and a mobile phone.

“No. Yes. No...ahhh!” he leaped, long limbs flying, from his chair and began to pace the Tardis.

Clara watched him do two full laps before; “well I hate ringing phones so you’ll forgive me but…” as she lunged for the phone.

“No! Ahhhh!”

He aimed for the phone but just missed and had to watch in panic as Clara answered; “Hello.”

“No! No! No! No! Hang up! Hang up!” he begged as he chased her around the Tardis. “Ahhhh!!”

“Miss Clara Oswald. It is not my intention to be rude but the situation demands that I speak immediately with the Doctor. Please put him on the line.”

“Oh dear,” cringed the Doctor at the look of shock and rising anger on Clara’s face.

“Do I know you?” demanded Clara

“No. But I know you. Now if you please…” the strong voice prompted

Clara turned to face the Doctor clearly confused.

After a beat…“here,” she said extending her arm to hand the phone to the Doctor.

He looked at the offering apprehensively before taking it and letting out a long and resigned sigh; “Yes?”

“Is there any particular reason why you would be avoiding me Doctor?” asked the man

“Avoiding? Me? You? Never! Why would I Mycroft?”

“I am only going to say this once, as I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation. Return to London immediately!”

“Ah! Yes! Things is…” he swayed back and forth thinking of…something…anything…

Sighing once again…he gave in; “For the record I had nothing to do with what happened to Sherlock! I mean I did but not…directly.”

The silence was more than enough answer.

“At least admit he’s cuter this way and frankly much more agreeable…”

The silence continued.

“On my way,” said the Doctor before hanging up.

“Who was that and where are we going?” asked Clara with building excitement

“2013 London. I have a…rather _small_ problem to deal with.”

Coordinates in and off the Tardis went. Turning and turning into London 2013.

*****

Carefully setting him down on the sofa as far back as possible, he took a few steps back.

“Wow…”

What else could he say?

“How….?”

And there he was. Chubby cheeks and bright eyes reading John as they always do.

John did not believe in magic…or whatever this was. He really didn’t. At least not until…well now.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. His sceptic, logical self refused to…but there was no denying it now. This baby sitting in front of him wrapped in nothing but one of Sherlock’s shirts was in fact…Sherlock. 

He responded to Sherlock. He looked like Sherlock.

Oh dear

And well…if John was to be honest…completely honest…Sherlock was absolutely…beautiful. Just perfect. And the thought brought a smile to his face.

He is all round where his adult self is all edges. He is bubbly where his adult self is serious. He is innocent where his adult self has seen so much horror and suffered just as much. The giggles that came out of him warmed John’s heart in a way that only Sherlock’s genuine smile ever did.

And for a brief moment. Just a fleeting moment. John thought that maybe…just maybe…this was an opportunity for him to right all the wrongs the world had done to Sherlock. Allow him the childhood and youth that he deserved. Be there with him against those who hurt him. Those who left such indelible marks on him. Be the friend, father, brother, partner he’d always needed but never really had.

John never doubted that Sherlock could read his thoughts because as they crossed his mind, Sherlock lifted both little arms silently asking to be picked up.

John could never say no to that face, adult or baby. With a soft smile he walked back and picked him up.

Sherlock gripped John’s shirt and mumbling something softly, he rested his little forehead on John’s chest. John sighed softly into those black curls and reflexively began to softly sway.

John’s thoughts were so muddled he didn’t really know where to go from here. Too many questions and no one to answer them. What had happened last night? What had they done and how had they ended up back here? He tried desperately to think back to yesterday morning and piece it together but he was truly exhausted. He didn’t have the strength in him to do anything right now. So he did what most men do when they are confused and lost – he ignored it. He began to pace – up, down and up again. Before he knew it half an hour had gone by and he had a heavy weight in his arms. Sherlock had fallen fast asleep. His little lips pushed up slightly against John’s chest and his eyelids fluttered every now and then.

Walking to Sherlock’s bedroom he put one hand on the back of his head, whilst the other supported the rest of his little body as he slowly and carefully put him down on the bed, arranging several pillows around him for safety. The weather was warm so he didn’t bother with any sheets – the shirt he was wearing was sure large enough on him to function as one.

And in silence he took a seat on the edge of the bed and watched the little boy sleep.

“God, Sherlock. What did you do?” he whispered

*****

“Hello! I’m the Doctor! This is Clara. You must be Mrs Hudson. Lovely to meet you. May we come in?”

“Oh. Do I know you?” asked Mrs Hudson very confused. Too many statements and not enough time to register.

“Not really. No. Could we pop upstairs? Just here to see Mycroft Holmes and Doctor Watson. Won’t take too long,” he stated not waiting for an answer as he began to make his way up two stairs at a time, followed by Clara who sheepishly smiled at the old landlady.

Poor Mrs Hudson was left at the door looking all the more stumped.

*****

The atmosphere in the room was thick and it had nothing to do with the summer heat.

Not one for announcing his arrival and simply letting himself in, John had almost jumped out of his skin when he walked into the living room, around 10 minutes after putting Sherlock to sleep, and found Mycroft sitting at Sherlock’s usual chair.

After a very uncomfortable greeting and a rejected invitation for tea, something John only did out of British politeness, they now sat facing each other…waiting. John wasn’t sure for what or whom….but they waited. And waited some more.

“Hello!” a loud voice announced from the door. “What did we miss?”

“Doctor,” Mycroft acknowledged in an even tone from where he sat. “Miss Oswald.”

John stood as the tall man with a bow tie and a shorter young girl walked into his living room.

“Hello. I’m John Watson,” he said extending his hand to the Doctor who took it with his usual enthusiasm.

“I know John. This is Clara. Have a seat, make yourselves at home,” added the Doctor much to John’s look of mild annoyance as he shook Clara’s hand. They had all just taken a seat when the Doctor jumped up again; “So? Where’s the bundle of joy?”

John was frankly getting a little irritated at this man’s behaviour and stood back up; “What do you know about all this?” he demanded

“Doctor. Have a seat,” instructed Mycroft with his usual composure

Both John and the Doctor looked at him, then at each other, then took a seat.

Once there, Mycroft turned his face towards them and began; “Doctor. Please explain to John and myself what happened to my brother and what you plan to do about it?”

“Well…” the Doctor began until he turned to look at John and instead asked; “What do you remember about yesterday John?”

John looked from the Doctor, to Mycroft, quickly by Clara and then back to the Doctor; “I…” with elbows rested on his thighs, he rubbed his face a little frustrated. “I can’t…I can’t remember anything…I…” he let out a long breath. He tried to focus all his concentration and go back to the previous morning. What had they been doing? He’d had breakfast…or had he? And then…

“The case!” he stated suddenly. “I didn’t have breakfast because Sherlock and I bolted first thing in the morning. We went to…we went to this…” his face twisted into a look of confusion. “Penthouse…he told me we would…there was this…” and then his face did this thing. That thing it does when a sudden realization hits him. “Oh my God…oh my God…we…we teleported….”

“That you did!” interjected the Doctor jumping up from his seat

“No. No. Wait. How?” demanded John. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet you did,” said the Doctor looking over his shoulder at John with that ever cheeky smile. “Do you remember where you went?” he continued as he began to pace the room…or rather investigate the room, picking things up here and there, having a quick look at them and putting them back down.

John frowned and considered it for a moment; “Um…it was a…it was a completely different planet…or at least that’s what it seemed. Sherlock said he…he wanted to speak with…” and yet again another realization. “He wanted to speak with…God I don’t know…a sorcerer of some kind or something…was I drugged?!” he exclaimed

The Doctor couldn’t help roll his eyes.

Mycroft had been exuberantly patient. He had simply listened to what had gone on in the room without interjecting…until; “Doctor. As much as I appreciate the jolting of Doctor Watson’s memory, I need to get to the bottom of this. My brother was a 34 year old man yesterday. He is now asleep in his bedroom just half a year old. Knowing my brother as I do, I’m sure he may have brought it on himself however I still need to know what happened and what we are going to do to reverse it? I don’t want to get too many people involved in this because we all know what that would bring about. My brother will _not_ be scrutinized and subjected to that. But if I don’t get answers soon I will move this planet and the next, Doctor, to get my brother back. So. If you will.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. The Doctor and everyone else were suddenly on edge. Mycroft was right. They had to figure this out and they had to do it fast. John had been so baffled and confused, that he hadn’t even stopped to think about…well everything else. How was Sherlock feeling? Was he hurting? Was this affecting his health in a terrible way? Was his mind still that of an adult or was he a child in its entirety?

And what would happen if this got out? What would the public do? Sherlock would become a freak show. A phenomenon. A circus act…

No! Never! Not in his life! John would never allow for any of that! Never! He would personally hurt anyone who so much as dared to look bad towards Sherlock.

The Doctor looked around and finally said; “I know where Sherlock went and what he did. But I’m going to have to travel to find the person who knows how to reverse this.”

“Do what you must,” replied Mycroft coolly. “But do it quickly.”

“Ok. Alright. Clara,” called the Doctor after her as he began to head for the door and down the stairs.

Clara, who had watched the entire exchange in silence and worry, jumped up and followed leaving with a simple; “Nice to meet you. Bye.” She had no idea who this ‘Sherlock’ was or where they were going but it all seemed very serious.

221B went silent again. John was on the sofa whilst Mycroft did not appear to have even moved a finger throughout those minutes.

“So what now?” whispered John

“Now we wait,” whispered Mycroft with a mildly distant look on his face which was unfamiliar to John

John couldn’t help but run through all those questions he came up with not long ago. He feared what this was doing to Sherlock. He really did. And if the person who did this needed something from him in order to return his friend back to normal, he would do it. Anything.

Neither man had realized how quiet the apartment had become, until the silence was broken by a heart wrenching scream coming from Sherlock’s bedroom. Looking towards the door both men jumped to their feet and raced towards the room. Mycroft, having been closer made it there first, and found Sherlock looking very distressed in the middle of the bed, eyes red and wet with tears. He headed straight for him only to be rejected by another short, almost painful scream and pushed away by Sherlock as best as his little arms and hands would let him.

John was directly behind Mycroft and at Sherlock’s reaction he immediately stepped in just as Sherlock had begun to make desperate attempts get to John but had gotten tangled on the shirt and the sheets beneath him. His desperation and frustration clear as he whimpered, his eyes watered and a name was desperately trying to escape his lips but completely unable to.

John picked him up and cradled him against his chest, holding him tight and whispering into his ear; “Hey. Hey. It’s alright buddy. It’s alright. It’s alright. I’m here. Shh. Shh. Shh. I’m here.”

Sherlock trembled against John. His little cheeks tears stricken as tiny hiccups escaped him every second or so.

John turned to look at Mycroft. Both men clearly affected by what had just happened.

“Please do something Mycroft,” he whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments and kudos!! They mean a lot!! This chapter is much shorter than the last and though I hope not, it might feel a bit like a 'filler' but I still hope you enjoy it. I probably won't be able to update until the weekend due to other commitments and because I don't want to post anything I'm not 100% happy with and that you guys deserve!  
> Thanks again :)

Mycroft left a few minutes after that incident. 

John had let him out and then sat on the sofa with Sherlock leaning against his chest. Every now and then he would rub circles on the little boys back, but mostly they were both content to be still and silent with each other.

Roughly an hour went by like this when…

“Yoo hoo,” sounded a soft voice from the door

John looked up to find Mrs Hudson poking her head in through the door. Smiling he gestured with a slight tilt of his head; “Come in Mrs Hudson.”

She made her way in carrying something blue and small in her hands. Taking a seat next to the boys, she looked at Sherlock who had shifted his little head to face her.

“So this is Sherlock?” she asked with no surprise in her voice.

John couldn’t help frown but with a slight sense of relief; “Yep. This is him,” he said running his hand down from Sherlock’s neck to his lower back. “Did you hear?”

“I may have,” she said sheepishly

John smiled completely unconcerned about her revelation. “So what do you think?”

“I have to admit it’s a little strange,” she said softly, unable to take her eyes off Sherlock.

“I’ll say,” said John humorously.

“How…?” she ventured

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t know.” 

“So what’s going to happen to him now?” she asked

“For the moment…I suppose I just have to deal with him the way he is,” he said looking down at the black curls in his field of view.

“And in the long run?”

John sighed. He refused to think about that; “I don’t want to think about that.”

There was a pause in which those words seemed to hang in the air.

Until; “I know it’s not much dear and you’re going to have to do some serious shopping if this is going to last much longer but…” she extended her hand and offered the blue cloth she’d carried in with her.

Sherlock not one to mind his own business lifted himself off of John until he was sitting up on his lap and attempted to grab hold of the item but was quickly cut off by John who took it instead.

“Oi,” he whispered getting Sherlock to back off just enough for him to unfold the cloth.

It was a navy blue, short sleeved, legless, one piece for a baby.

John was genuinely surprised which must have showed because the moment he turned to look at Mrs Hudson she began in a soft whisper; “It was…it was for someone…whom I cared for very much.”

She looked away which was enough of a hint for John not to probe any further.

John smiled softly and said the only thing he could; “Thank you Mrs Hudson. Really. Thank you.”

All this time Sherlock had been tugging at the item until John finally let it go; “Happy now?” John whispered humorously eliciting a smile from Mrs Hudson who looked on with a kind expression.

She looked back up; “You’re welcome dear.” That usual spark returning to her eyes; “Besides, I know Sherlock has very little sense of shame sometimes but wandering around half naked…really darling,” she said as she ran her hand over Sherlock’s cheek to which he grunted but leaned into.

To be honest John hadn’t even considered that. He had been so preoccupied with everything else that …he hadn’t given any of that any thought. Nappies. Clothing. Food. _All_ that.

Oh wow.

No, really, wow…

Suddenly the patch he’d noticed on Sherlock’s bed earlier made a whole lot of sense.

How the hell had he missed it?

“Dear,” Mrs Hudson broke through his terrifying thoughts. “One thing at a time. One thing at a time,” as she patted his leg softly.

*****

Sherlock _just_ fit into the little blue number Mrs Hudson had given them and John had had to improvise with a hand towel for a nappy. He was well aware that there was an extensive _and_ expensive shopping trip in his near future but for the moment this would have to do. Mycroft had left with clear instructions not leave the flat until further notice and truth be told, John was in no mood to piss the man off.

Fitting Sherlock into his newly acquired clothing had not been an easy task. So much so that John had genuinely considered letting the man…rather the boy….sorry the baby, wander around in the nude! 

John had gone into the bathroom to wet a towel and taking Sherlock back to the bedroom, he put him on the bed and removed the long and now sweaty grey shirt he’d been wrapped in. Sherlock took this as a prompt to bolt! He flipped onto his stomach and began _attempting_ to get away. Unfortunately for him the bed and the sheets restricted his already limited motor skills. John had wrapped an arm around his torso and pulled him back; “Where do you think you’re going?”

Bringing him back towards him, John took the wet towel and began to…well, began to wipe his flatmate down. Maybe it was the best friend in him, maybe it was the doctor in him or maybe it was the absurdity of the situation, whatever it was John didn’t cringe or feel disgust or uncomfortable in any way. In fact he found this less strange and confronting than he thought he would. Yes it was weird. Yes it seemed ridiculous…but…to him it was…fine. Just fine. Just shrug and get on with it kind of fine.

The wiping cost John a few kicks that came with some grunts and screams, but he continued on, reflexes working hard to duck or move as little legs came flying in his direction. It took him a second or so to come up with the hand towel/nappy idea and so he quickly took one out of his bedside table and improvised. He folded it one way. Didn’t look right. Folded it another way. Still not right. One last fold. There you go! Perfect!

Finally looking up from his invention he leaped up at such a speed that his army colleagues and leaders would have been proud of him. Sherlock had wondered to the edge of the bed and had every intention of finding out how gravity worked from this high up.

John held him there with one arm; “Please don’t do that Sherlock. Just don’t.”

Taking a deep breath he brought him back up to where their ‘work station’ was on the bed and lying the terror on his back he began to shift little legs left, right and centre to try and get the ‘nappy’ in the right place. He was proud of himself. Genuinely proud of getting it almost together when; “Sherlock!!”

A stream of pee flowed right out of the boy and straight into John’s face. Something which Sherlock was finding extremely hilarious!

If wiping your flatmate’s privates doesn’t complete your _bonding_ , getting peed on certainly does!

Completely unamused, John wiped his face down with the end of the bed sheet he was closest to and removed the now wet ‘nappy’. 

“Sherlock, I swear to God, you do that one more time and I will…” he really wasn’t going to do anything but saying it made him feel a little better. Sighing and taking a deep breath, he took another towel out and began the process again. Sherlock may have been a baby, but he wasn’t stupid and he certainly seemed to know where his bread was buttered. So he held still with little legs cooperating.

John would have smiled if he hadn’t wanted to make him suffer but eventually the corner of his mouth gave him away.

The blue outfit was another matter entirely. Sherlock was happy to have a nappy but there was no way he would consent to that! Well, John had something to say about that!

“Sherlock! Sherlock, hold still. Sherlock!”

Sherlock squirmed, grunted and protested in a language adults hear but don’t understand. But John was a determined soldier who would get this on either the easy way or the hard way.

Minutes later and finally dressed, John was tired and Sherlock was grumpy…just like old times.

*****

Feeling hungry he carried Sherlock in one arm, headed into the kitchen and attempted to singlehandedly make something for the both of them. But it was in doing this that he realized just how much he needed to do some shopping. It was hard enough to find something edible in this flat on a good day. Having a child in the house…things really weren’t looking good.

Looking around for a few minutes he finally decided to screw it and head to the shops. They really were in desperate need and only God knew when Mycroft would return. And though Sherlock couldn’t, or at least shouldn’t, leave the house there was no reason why John couldn’t. After another second of contemplation he quickly gathered his wallet, keys and phone and headed down the stairs towards the only person he could think of. 

He had just made it to the bottom of the stairs when the front door opened.

“Going somewhere doctor Watson?” asked Mycroft walking past John and straight up the stairs. He was followed by a man he didn’t recognize wearing something of a native outfit he couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of, who was followed by a smiling Clara; “Hello Doctor Watson!” who was followed by an enthusiastic Doctor; “Hello John! Up you come!”

His shoulders slumped and looking down at Sherlock he whispered; “I’m hungry.” Sherlock’s little hands came up to John’s face running little finger tips softly over his cheeks and lips. Nibbling playfully on Sherlock’s little digits, he let them go, took a deep breath and gathering all the patience he could muster, back up he went.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I'm so grateful your lovely comments!! :) I spent most of yesterday at work doing anything but work and thinking about this story. The good thing is I now have a very clear idea of where I'm going...hopefully I can put it on paper! x (fingers crossed I'll have the next chapter up by tomorrow)

Walking into the living room he found everyone seemingly waiting for him; “Please have a seat John,” asked Mycroft from Sherlock’s seat.

Stepping further in he headed straight to the couch where he joined Clara. The Doctor was pacing as he did, whilst the strange new man was sitting on John’s usual seat.

He adjusted Sherlock so he was sitting on his lap facing Clara, which of course didn’t last very long; “So?”

“John!” began the Doctor. “Meet Leonard Blackburn. Or rather you’ve already met him but you wouldn’t remember. Leonard! You remember John and…..Sherlock,” he said waving towards the child who had begun squirming out of John’s grasp. “Anyway! Leonard here has some words he’d like to say. Off you go. Don’t be shy!”

This Leonard man was looking very guilty. Of what, John didn’t know, but there was something there. As all eyes were suddenly on him, he clasped his hands together and began; “Um…well ah…..”

The pause lasted a little too long for comfort.

“Leonard, don’t embarrass me,” said the Doctor

“Well…Sherlock came to me because of a case he was working on. He didn’t really explain the details but it was something about people, or more specifically _elderly_ people disappearing. I don’t know the details; he’s not really big on explaining...anyway he somehow made the connection and he wanted to see what…I’d been…working on…”

“Working on? What kind of stuff do you _work_ on that does this people?” asked John a little agitated and keeping his eyes on the man but multitasking and keeping one hand over Sherlock who had by now wriggled onto the sofa.

Clara made an attempt to take Sherlock who had quickly stated his disapproval by grunting loudly and looking up at John for support.

“Is this some kind of...what...’dark magic’ shit going on here?” continued John

“No!” said Leonard half way between humoured and insulted. “Research. Plain and simple: research. You didn’t pay me a visit at Hogwarts doctor Watson.”

John was far from alleviated; “What kind of _research_ then?”

Leonard continued; “My team and I are focusing on the possible extension of telomeres in the human and otherwise chromosomes,” he said quickly eyeing the Doctor, who simply raised an eyebrow in return. “Not only are my people the closest thing to human there is out there in the universe but we’re also only about one hundred years ahead of planet Earth. Which in research terms isn’t really much if you can imagine. And well at the moment we’re working on rodents as is the standard but hoping to eventually get to humans….or at least we were until Sherlock got ahead of me and did what I explicitly asked him not to.”

By now Sherlock had made his way tummy down to the edge of the sofa and his little legs were daggling off the edge. John had absentmindedly kept one hand just over his little bottom stopping him from simply falling off.

“Please continue,” asked Mycroft seriously

“I had a…a batch of trial dosages that Sherlock got a hold of and which of course were not meant for human consumption.”

John looked down at Sherlock a little annoyed but mostly resigned. Sherlock, who must have sensed it, twisted his little head up even in his awkward position and met John’s eyes offering him a smile to which John couldn’t really help himself against. A corner of John’s mouth moved up and the look they seemed to share was almost one of complicity.

“In my defence I warned him several times,” said the man

John refused to comment and instead helped Sherlock in his endeavour by taking him with both hands and popping him on the floor by his feet.

Sherlock quickly turned as best he could and finding the edge of the sofa he grasped and supported himself against it to try and find a balance on his two little tubby legs. Clara was clearly enthralled by the boy and attempted yet again to get close. Sherlock was still having none of that and again turned his head to John but by then the conversation had continued.

“Ok. Well that explains the ‘how’ but…what now? What do we do? I mean there has to be a way to reverse this right,” said John

There was a small silence which hung thick in the air

“ _Please_ tell me there is a way to reverse this?!” John’s voice suddenly sounding forceful and panicked as if the idea that Sherlock could actually remain…remain…hadn’t actually crossed his mind.

“Well…”

“Well what?” said John raising his voice that little more

It was now Leonard’s turn to look over to the Doctor for support, but he didn’t seem to be getting any as the Doctor looked towards John and then over to Mycroft.

“Mr Blackburn, we will ask you again, what are we going to do now?” interjected Mycroft finally

“Now…we wait,” said the man finally

“I’m sorry. We what?” asked John

“We wait. I…you have to understand this research was in its early stages. There were variables and such that we still needed to work on. Things that we thought _could_ happen, things we knew _would_ happen and those things which we had no control over and would only discover once we began the trials,” said the man slightly agitated. “I hadn’t even started on my test group yet!”

John went entirely too still…

Mycroft was a very hard man to rouse but once he was angry there was no stopping him. Standing from his seat he hovered over the man; “My brother will return to his former state. Now how you go about doing that is none of my concern. But I expect it to be done and I expect it immediately!”

The room went silent…except of course for Sherlock who decided to ‘voice’ (and loudly) his opinion, much to Clara’s silent amusement.

Leonard began to look around at all the eyes that were set on him; “Well I didn’t…I didn’t say there was no way to reverse it. I was just…I was just pointing out that I don’t know with exactitude.”

“Leonard. You know this hole you keep digging yourself? Stop,” said the Doctor looking worried for the man.

John lowered his head into his hands and let out a strained sigh; “This can’t be happening,” he whispered. “This isn’t happening...”

It suddenly all seemed to collapse on him...and all at once. As if he was suddenly entirely too aware of the situation. As if prior to this moment he had carried on with his morning with the silent confidence that Mycroft with his apparent infinite amount of power and this _Doctor_ from God-knows-where, would have it sorted by lunch. Come late afternoon he’d be back to chasing criminals and chastising Sherlock for nor eating his dinner. 

And then...well then suddenly none of this made sense. Suddenly the truth was very different. Suddenly he wasn’t even sure what world he was living in. 

And then he felt something in him finally snap.

Lifting his head from his hands he stood up from the seat.

“W...when I say we wait,” explained the man. “I literally mean…we wait. See we…well we were…working under the assumption that…the person would revert to their normal age once the effect of the dose had worn out. Can you see now how early on in our research we are?” asked the man seeking a little sympathy

“What time frame are we looking at?” asked John, his breathing picking up pace

“It needs to wear out.”

“How long will that be?” asked John getting a little more agitated

There was a pause in the room

“How long?!” exclaimed John again

“It…it really depends on how much he took…” was the nervous and hesitant reply

John paused either to digest or pick up strength; “Do you have…any idea how...wrong all this is?! This isn’t right! This isn’t normal!...I have no idea who you people are or what this is about...God I don’t even who Sherlock is anymore!” His hands shaking in anger; “This time yesterday he was a 34 year old man now he’s...God just look at him,” his eyes stopping on Sherlock who looked up at him from the floor. A pair of young eyes just...staring back at him...wondering...waiting on him.

And John...he lost the strength previously in his voice. He lost the energy that came with the anger. It just deflated out of him; “It just doesn’t...these things don’t...” He had no more words. He let out a breath and shaking his head ever so slightly he slowly, not so much as daring to look in Sherlock’s direction again, stepped out of the living room. Took one step at a time down to the stairs. And walked out of 221.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should explain John's actions a little here...I know it might seem off that one minute he's ok with Sherlock being a child and the next he's up and off...
> 
> I don't know if this has happened to anyone else but...have any of you ever discovered something or being informed of something that had a strong impact on you. Yet for the first few minutes or hours you don't react to it at all...until suddenly the reality of it seems to just slowly sink into you....? It's happened to me...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always thankful for your comments and kudos! :)  
> Hopefully next chapter will be full of John and baby Sherlock moments!  
> I know this is looking like a very long day but it felt like everyone and everything needs an explanation before the dust settles a bit...hehe
> 
> Thank you!! X

John had just made it to the end of block when he came to a stop, his left hand clenching reflexively. His breathing was chocked and his heart was unusually fast.

Looking to all sides his eyes never focused on anything but on everything...

And _everything_ seemed normal. Ordinary. Everyone was just...normal...

And here he was...living a different reality to everyone else.

Humanity...simple…completely unaware...completely oblivious.

He looked down the street to his left. Then to his right. Then back to where he came from.

All the while with a constant thought on his mind; Sherlock.

Sherlock. Sherlock. It was always Sherlock. 

The genius and brilliant idiot with no sense of self-preservation. The asshole who spoke without filtering. The machine who understood nothing of sentimentalities – or so he said.

The man who had brought him back to life. Who drove him to insanity and the one who made him smile and laugh. The man he owed so much to. The one he really couldn’t see himself without anymore.

And that man...that beautiful child...was probably back there...waiting on him. Waiting for him to return. Hoping he would. Hoping he wouldn’t leave him behind. Hoping he would forgive him and not forget him.

“God, what am I doing? What am I doing?” he whispered to himself as he ran his hands over his face.

Decidedly he began to walk back with the simple knowledge that he would always return home.

He was perhaps a few houses down when he noticed Clara waiting from him at the front door, a knowing smile offered at the sight of him.

Reaching the front of 221 she whispered; “He really needs you.”

John considered her words if only for a second. His unvoiced response; ‘Not as much as I need him.’

Offering her a short smile he made his way inside only to be greeted by the sounds of angry and exuberantly loud screams coming from upstairs. 

Making his way up two stairs at a time he walked into the living room finding the Doctor and Leonard watching concerned as Mycroft was trying desperately to take control of Sherlock who was quite angrily attempting to escape his hold. And it seemed that at the sight of John he all but to leaped towards him surprisingly seeming even angrier.

John really couldn’t blame him. He felt guilty for it. That and it took a brave soul to be in the arms of Mycroft Holmes.

Immediately taking a red-faced Sherlock from Mycroft, he then picked up his essentials from the coffee table and left the flat with a few last words; “I’ll speak with you later Mycroft. You two,” looking to the Doctor and Leonard. “You know the way out.”

Making his way back down stairs with a still grumpy albeit quieter Sherlock, he came across Clara again. She was still where he’d left her. Standing outside. Simply observing.

John walked right past her but then...stopped, considered it and then turned to face her.

“I um...I’m going to get something to eat. Get something for him as well,” he said looking at Sherlock then back to her. “Would you like to join us?”

Clara smiled and looking once back towards the flat, she walked towards John prompting them on their way.

*****

“I didn’t believe in all of this either,” she stated.

They were seated at an outside table of a cafe. Having bought two small Gerber jars at express store on their way; one of sweet potato and another of pear, John was taking turns between sipping his coffee and using the teaspoon to feed Sherlock who was seated on his lap. He had imagined he would have to battle the food into him and had braced himself for it, but as it turns out either Sherlock was too tired out to fight it or he did in fact just enjoy _being_ spoon fed because he was willingly opening his mouth for each spoon full. Problem was once the spoon was in, Sherlock would tighten his little mouth around it and refuse to let it go much to John’s frustration; “Sherlock,” he begged quietly as he gently squeezed Sherlock’s cheeks with one hand and tugged the spoon with the other; “let it go.” Sherlock’s response; soft, deep throat growls. 

And Clara, well she’d watched all this in...amazement. Really. She was just...fascinated. It was like both boys in front of her worked so in sync with each other and moulded so well around each other… 

“I mean, I always believed that there was _something_ out there...but at the end of the day I was still living in a world of humans. Just going about their own business. Humans made of blood, skin, bone and perhaps if you’re lucky a little imagination but...just that...human.” She let out a long breath. “And then I met the Doctor.”

John couldn’t help the short but bitter laugh that escaped his lips as he looked down at Sherlock who had taken the spoon from John and was working it between his little fingers.

“The things I’ve seen. The people, the places, it just...” she paused to gather her thoughts. “It changes you. Everything around you looks much more different.”

“I can imagine,” said John softly as he held Sherlock around his tummy with his left arm and played with a napkin on the table with his right.

“I know it’s difficult to digest and accept that there’s an alternate reality but…” she paused as a smile slowly formed on her lips. “Don’t you think…it’s more exciting this way? To know for a fact that we’re not alone? To know that there is so much more out there? And to be one of the few who actually knows about this?”

John reflected her words in silence. His eyes distant.

Clara ventured in an almost mischievous whisper; “I thought you liked the dangerous doctor Watson?”

John’s attention was caught immediately as he raised his eyes to her before slowly raising one eyebrow in genuine surprise. His lips tingled with a smile which she failed to avoid and happily returned.

There was a pause when; “Whoa,” Clara just managed as a teaspoon flew in her direction but just missed.

“Sherlock!” John demanded looking down at him just as Sherlock made a sudden move to his left coming completely off of John’s leg. And he would have met with the floor had John not been holding on so tight; “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked the child repositioning him on his lap despite the wriggling and grunting. “I’m so sorry,” he returned to Clara.

Clara laughed it off innocently as she picked up the spoon from the floor and handed it back to John; “Someone’s possessive.”

Sherlock was unimpressed. John chose to ignore her comment.

Instead; “So…” taking a deep breath; “who is this _Doctor_ then? What is he? Where does he come from? Other than outer space of course,” he stated trying desperately hard not to sound sarcastic.

“You don’t have to sound so sarcastic.”

He failed.

“No I…” trying to expiate himself but opting to instead meet her eyes and prompting her to continue.

Clara took a moment in which she watched Sherlock attempt to wriggle out of John’s hold tugging as hard as he could at the arm wrapped around his torso with both little hands. It wasn’t much use.

“The Doctor is…” her eyes distant. “He is magnificent…”

John’s eyebrows raised mildly humoured; “That’s quite a statement.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’re not a close minded man John.”

“We met this morning Clara.”

“And yet…”

John raised his eyes and met hers again.

Smiling knowingly she formed the following simple sentence; “The Doctor is to me…what Sherlock is to you.”

John was suddenly very serious…like when something hits a little too close to home.

The silence that had grown between them was suddenly broken by a ringing phone. Reaching into his pocket he retrieved his mobile phone and answered; “Hello, John speaking.”

“Where are you!?” demanded someone from across the line

“Oh my God!” John straightened up in his chair sounding panicked. “Sarah! Oh my God! Can you…can you just give me a second. Give me a second,” he begged of her. “Excuse me,” he asked of Clara before quickly standing from his chair and taking a few steps away from the café for some form of privacy, in his rush failing to realize he was now holding Sherlock more like a football and less like a child.

“John! You were due at the clinic 20 minutes ago!” Sarah stated clearly upset

He had been rostered for the afternoon shift that day but…well let’s just say there were things that would slip anyone’s mind on a day like this. And he truly felt awful. He really did. He knew his behaviour was unprofessional, especially when you consider that this was a usual occurrence -

“John. This is the third time this month that someone else has had to cover for you at the last minute. That plus the days you’ve actually had off! Sometimes I wonder if you still work here anymore!”

“I know. I know Sarah. I am so sorry,” he admitted

“John, you are hired part time but lately it’s more like a casual placement and to honest I don’t know how much longer we can keep doing this before I’m forced to do something I really don’t want to do.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

He couldn’t or at least didn’t want to imagine what it was going to be like to have to ask Sarah for more time off. The way things were looking he was clearly going to have to.

There was a silence across the line

“What do you want me to do John?” she finally asked sounding tired out

John closed his eyes for a second; “Nothing. Nothing. I just...I just need today. I know...I understand that you have every right to reconsider my position there but...I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I.”

Another silence which ended with a soft sigh from Sarah.

“Can you at least tell me why you can’t come in? I mean I know it has to do with Sherlock as it always does but...I don’t know, is it for a case, has he gotten himself sick or in trouble again and you have to look after him. What is it?” she asked

_…you have to look after him…_

‘Oh Sarah’ he thought. ‘If only you knew...’

“It’s...it’s nothing. Um...it’s a case we’re...nothing,” he said almost deflated.

He needed his job. He really did. He loved it there and he loved his profession and didn’t want to lose it but...what was he to do?

“Can you at least come by later and we can talk in person?” she asked

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I’ll try and come around closing.”

“Fine.”

And like that the line went dead.

John hung up as his arm dropped and he let out an almost painful sigh; “Oh my God,” he whispered. Then a little louder; “Oh my God!” as he looked down and realized Sherlock’s little arms, legs and little head were hanging at his side desperately trying to get John’s attention. “Oh my God!” he lifted him up and repositioned him in his arms holding him tight against his chest again. “I’m so sorry Sherlock. I am so, so sorry!” Letting out a long breath; “Parenting really isn’t for everybody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Just wondering...is anyone finding these chapters too short or too long? I'm not sure what the standard is and I find that when I start writing I can't always find an end to each chapter and keep writing page after page after - please let me know what you think. I would appreciate it. Thank you! *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone saw my internet search history they'd be asking me when I was due!!For the record I'm happily single and child-less hehe
> 
> I do hope you are all still enjoying this story :) I try to update as quick as I can.  
> Thank you for reading!!

The walk to the supermarket took about 15 minutes. He wasn’t planning on getting much; he wasn’t even sure what he would need at this point, but there were certain essentials he needed… _now_. So holding Sherlock with one arm and pulling the trolley out with the other he proceeded to try and place him in the baby seat. He received an angry scream for his troubles. Looking completely embarrassed John went at it again desperately trying to bend Sherlock's little legs so they would fit into the seat. Sherlock on his part squirmed, wriggled, stiffened, screamed a few more times and finally began throwing his arms around hitting John in the face once or twice.

"Sherlock! For the love of God!"

Well that was enough to attract a few evil stares.

John really didn't need this. Not now.

Taking a deep breath he held Sherlock up on the child seat with both hands; "Sherlock. I can't walk with you like this," he tried to reason with him. "You have to sit down or we're not going anywhere. Hey, it's not like this is any more fun for me. The last thing I thought I'd be doing today was buying nappies and formula."

Sherlock gave him a look of desperation which brought John a few more notches down from where he’d been; "I know Sherlock. I know. Just, can we try and work together here?"

They shared a look for a brief moment before Sherlock loosened his weight and slipped down onto his bottom. 

“Thank you,” whispered John as he arranged little legs into the holes made for them and finally off they went to the baby items isle.

John had never had to buy nappies but he wasn't entirely incompetent. Besides the boxes were pretty self-explanatory most likely for new parents like him - God the thought made him wince and giggle all at once. 

Anyway, onwards. 

Having a quick scan of the possibilities he began to see the pattern. The age of the child and weight of the child. Ok. That was easy enough. Age: 6-9 months Weight: Um...he looked over at Sherlock who looked busy studying the boxes himself. Wow John really didn't know his weight but he round about guessed it - probably took a few off, God forbid he might insult Sherlock.

In went the box of 50 with the Winnie the Pooh designs and whilst he was at it some baby wipes too. There was only so much a wet towel could do…

And speaking of wet towels…

John frowned as he looked down, _down_ at Sherlock…

“I sure hope that towel will make it till we get home,” he whispered

Walking a bit further in he found the formulas. John cringed. He was running on the assumption that Sherlock’s little body was not yet capable of digesting certain things so until proven otherwise, formulas and soft foods would have to do. Doing a quick scan of his options he frowned...why so many? It's just formula!

Making his decision he picked out two that looked promising and stared at them long and hard before turning and showing them to Sherlock; "What do you think?"

Sherlock with his left thumb in his mouth looked up at John a little unsure as to what he was asking.

"I'll let you pick if you promise to drink it," he bargained

Sherlock's little face twisted into a deep frown of concentration as he looked at both containers. A moment later he lunged at the yellow container in John's right hand.

John breathed out amused as he gave the container to Sherlock who had to wrap both arms around to get a hold of it.

"Alright. What else do we need?"

Taking a look around he found the bottles, bibs and dummies. He needed a bottle that Sherlock would have little trouble holding. But yet again he was confronted with too many options; big bottles, little bottles, coloured bottles, shaking bottles… _shaking bottles?_

“So many options and most of them unnecessary.”

Turning to the source of the voice he found a young woman in her early 30’s with a small baby in a bassinette carry cot.

John smiled; “Yeah, hurdle over the nappies and formulas only to be confronted by this,” he said humorously.

She laughed softly and ventured cautiously; “I’m going out on a limb here but…new dad?”

“What gave it away?”

“Your look of terror.”

“Oh. That. Yeah…” he said humorously. “You have no idea.”

Another soft laugh was ready at her lips; “I’ve always thought us parents should help each other out. If not us, who else will?”

He wasn’t sure where she was going with this but he let her continue.

“You might want to try this one,” she said as she reached one of the larger bottles and handed it to him. “It’s easy for them to hold and it’s just the right quantity. I have an older one,” she felt the need to explain

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome…Oh my God!” her hand jerked towards John’s trolley

“Oh God!” he voiced as he turned just in time to make use of his quick reflexes once more managing to just catch Sherlock who was going head first towards the floor.

John’s hands gripped Sherlock awkwardly by one little arm and an edge of his outfit, barely managing to hold him up. He got his breath back before manoeuvring Sherlock back into the seat. Somehow the boy had managed to wriggle his legs out of the holes and had leaned so far over the trolley handle that one more second and John would have been picking, quite possibly a screaming, Sherlock up from the floor.

“Stop doing that!” said John sternly once he had him back in a sitting position. 

The woman looked at him a little disapproving at his tone of voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I just…”

“No. No I understand. They can drive you mad sometimes. You’re a bit of an adventurer aren’t you sweetheart?” she said running a hand over Sherlock’s right cheek.

He grunted loudly and jerked away from her.

“He’s a terror alright,” agreed John

“No. He’s a cutie…aren’t you?” she said attempting to run her hand over Sherlock’s curls. “Are you ok darling?”

Sherlock clumsily pushed her hand away with both of his.

John smiled mischievously towards Sherlock with an eyebrow raised. ‘Payback’s a bitch Sherlock,’ he thought.

“I’m sorry,” John apologized. “He’s not house trained…”

“I’m sorry?” she asked looking at him confused

“I’m sorry. I meant…his mother has him…badly…” he didn’t know how to end that.

And the moment just got awkward.

“I think I’ll just leave you to it,” she said

“Sure. Thank you for…” he pointed towards the bottle

“It’s fine.” 

Once she was out of earshot he looked at Sherlock; “You keep going this way and you’re going straight to Mycroft’s. How does that sound?”

John raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock’s stared him down.

*****

John was exhausted to say the least. His feet hurt, his head hurt, his arms hurt, he was absolutely starving and to be honest he was getting very grumpy and annoyed. Barely making it up the stairs to the flat he just desperately wanted to drop on the couch and sleep. Maybe it would all go away…

Boy he was wrong. So very, very wrong,

“Oh come on! I was gone an hour!”

He stopped dead at the door of 221B as he took in his surroundings and dropping the two bags he had with him on the floor.

The flat had been baby-proofed, or rather Sherlock-proofed.

The living room was immaculate with all previous sharp and otherwise dangerous objects nowhere to be seen and replaced with soft rugs and flannelettes. Even the coffee table had been replaced with a dark brown, square leather ottoman which actually matched the sofa quite well. Near the door stood folded what had to be one of the sturdiest reverse handle prams John had ever seen. 

Walking further into the kitchen he found it almost empty…well empty of hazardous materials and human remains.

“Sherlock is going to kill you,” he whispered though he had to admit he was mildly pleased he now had an actual kitchen.

The fridge was completely restocked and the cupboards, which now had safety catches and locks, contained anything and everything he could possibly need with a child in the house; from bottles, to small plates and bowls, to formulas, to baby food, even a high chair sitting at the end of the table.

Inspecting the bathroom he found a baby bath fitted into their bath tub and one or two toys leaning on the edge. The cupboards contained baby toiletries of all kinds and apparently for all occasions. John pondered if the previous cluttered state of the bathroom had made it seem smaller because somehow there was even a change table with organizer and a baby laundry hamper in one corner. Turning to leave he even came across a nappy holder hanging on the back of the door.

Sighing he moved on…

He was dreading it. He really was…

“Oh God…” he whispered.

Sherlock’s bedroom was…well it was no more.

The bed had been remade and pushed into a position that allowed room for the piece of furniture that demanded the most attention in the room; a beautiful deep brown mahogany cot arranged with blankets and pillows; ‘Trust the Holmes brothers to sleep like aristocrats despite the age’ he thought. There was an additional dresser in the room of the same kind of wood which John made his way to. The first drawer contained baby clothing and shoes of all kinds; fabrics of the most delicate. The second drawer was packed with nappies, wipes and towels. And the last drawer contained blankets and quilts.

Sherlock who had his head over John’s shoulder began pointing in the beds direction. Turning, John found a small envelope with a note inside:

_Doctor Watson,_

_I have taken the liberty to make some additions to your flat. I trust you will find everything you require to care for my brother. Any monetary expenses from now on will of course be fully covered._

_I will ask however that my brother and you are ready by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. You will be driven to a location and further details will be explained to you then._

_I appreciate your kindness towards my brother. As I know he does._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Letting himself down slowly on a corner of the bed John whispered; “Ok. I give up. I’ll do it…I’ll do all of this.”

And Sherlock…well he quietly leaned his head on John’s shoulder and gripped his shirt with one little fist.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I'm always so grateful for you lovely readers!! :)  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. I should have the next one up by the end of the weekend *fingers crossed*  
> Thanks! x

“Sherlock. Please go to sleep,” he whispered looking up at the ceiling

It was roughly 10 o’clock when John had put Sherlock into his cot hoping and praying he would just sleep. It had taken Sherlock less than half a minute to flip on his tummy and sit back up with no intention of that.

“Sherlock, it’s been a long day. I swear I’m exhausted. Please just go to sleep...besides we have to be up and going early tomorrow. God knows what your brother wants from me now,” he continued as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

John had actually pondered on how the sleeping arrangements would work. And he spent more time on that than he’s willing to admit because despite the answer been obvious, he still had to at least attempt to come up with an alternative. He couldn’t bring the cot up to his bedroom but he also couldn’t leave Sherlock down here on his own and the thought of sleeping in Sherlock’s bed made him...a little uncomfortable...but then again this whole situation was far from normal...so, Sherlock’s bed it was! 

Even though he’d have to relocate a lot of his things, for the moment he only brought with him the essentials. He’d moved around the room with relative ease and had gone about fixing Sherlock up in a new nappy and into a little navy blue onesie he’d spotted earlier and looked perfect on him...though you’d never catch him saying that out loud.

He was now lying on the bed in the dark sounding exhausted...but there was a patience in his voice that seemed to fill the silences.

Turning his head he could just make out in the darkness the outline of a little silhouette sitting up; “I know you have trouble sleeping Sherlock. I’ve lived with you long enough but...” he let out a sigh; “oh I don’t know...maybe it’s a good chance for me to change that disturbing sleeping pattern of yours.”

Sherlock was sitting with his little legs out in front of him and a thumb ever present in his mouth. At the silence that followed he gave himself a boost forward and crawled closer to the side of the cot looking up at John through the bars.

Looking up at the ceiling for all of a second he let out a sigh and stood back up realizing this wasn’t going to work. He thought back to this morning when he’d inadvertently made Sherlock fall asleep in his arms. So bringing him back up, Sherlock quite willingly offering his arms up, he settled him against his chest and began to pace the room. Sherlock was very fidgety at this point and was becoming a little vocal about it too, so much so that John had had to wrap a firm but gentle hand over his little head to keep it down against him. And maybe it was the silence and darkness in the room or John’s constant beating heart under his ear, whatever it was Sherlock slowly, slowly relaxed. John could feel it. He could feel little limbs growing weaker and weaker against him.

Idly running his hand up and down the small back his mind couldn’t stop for breath. Everything was...so...God, he didn’t even know how to word it.

His conversation with Sarah that afternoon had been a disaster and now he had to run with a lie that he knew would come back and bite him one of these days…

*****

_“Are you trying to tell me that this child belongs to Sherlock and you’re doing him the favour of playing daddy for him because what…he can’t do it himself?” she asked disbelieving and angry_

_John had had every intention of telling her the truth, however hard to explain and/or understand it might have been, but then one thing led to another and not knowing any better he decided to run with it. When Sarah had set her eyes on Sherlock she immediately made the connection...just not the **right** connection._

_“It’s just...it’s complicated...”_

_“I’m sure it is,” she said bitterly_

_John couldn’t help it but he was actually starting to feel quite angry and riled up at her words and tone._

_He’d taken Sherlock to his meeting with her because the boy had all but howled the moment John had made an attempt to leave him with Mrs Hudson at the flat and hell had broken loose when he’d then attempted to put him in the pram. By the time they left the flat, John was completely over it. Sherlock was sapping the strength out of him._

_“So what are you gonna do about work? Do you have any idea what it takes to look after a child?”_

_“Why, do you?” he returned frankly a little tired of her attitude_

_Sarah was clearly not expecting that and both of them paused for a moment_

_“You really are in love with him aren’t you?” she let out_

_John blinked surprised; “I’m sorry?”_

_“Sherlock Holmes. He must really be something else,” she stated_

_John really wasn’t sure how to respond to that; “Sarah, I...I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to apologize for this morning and talk about my future here...”_

_“Why don’t you just tell him?” she interrupted refusing to let the topic go_

_Clutching onto Sherlock a little tighter he looked to all his sides before replying; “Sarah. I’m sorry about today. It’s been an absolutely chaotic day but...look my next shift is tomorrow afternoon. I appreciate Michelle covering for me this morning and I’ll cover for her whenever she needs it...I just...”_

_Sarah considered his words as she stared at Sherlock who openly returned the look with one little hand closed into a fist and rested against John’s chest._

_She softly cleared her throat; “What’s his name?”_

_“Sorry?”_

_Pointing at Sherlock; “What’s his name?”_

_John looked down at Sherlock who looked up at him._

_He thought, and fast; “Hamish.”_

_“Isn’t that your middle name?”_

_“Yeah...” he said sharing another look with Sherlock. “I once told Sherlock that if he ever needed baby names he should consider Hamish. I guess for once he listened to me.”_

_Sarah’s look of disbelief only grew; “You two are ridiculous. You know what, whatever. I really do hope you know what you’re doing.”_

*****

“I really don’t,” he whispered into the darkness

Sherlock’s little eyes were still wide open and John could feel his little breath against the hairs in his arm but at least he wasn’t crying which was a plus.

“Alright Sherlock, but just this once,” he whispered as he took one of the little pillows from the cot and headed back towards the bed. If he knew anything about parenting he knew this was a bad idea that could turn into a bad habit however this wasn’t exactly your everyday child so he was willing to make some exceptions if only tonight. 

Putting Sherlock down on the left side of the bed he shifted some pillows to make a barrier between the boy and edge. Lying down on the right side, John made himself comfortable under the sheets which he pulled over Sherlock as well.

Sherlock began to twist left and right under them, wriggling until he’d successfully kicked them off of himself.

“Sherlock,” John warned. “I will put you back in the cot.”

Sherlock clearly wasn’t threatened and pulled himself back up again but remained mostly silent and still.

A few minutes went by in which the quiet in the room grew. He hadn’t meant to, he really only wanted close his eyes for a moment, but the tiredness must have overpowered John and he fell asleep. And it would have lasted if it hadn’t been for…

"Ow!!" he croaked as his eyes flew open and his torso lifted slightly off the bed. "Oh my God...what the...?" he whispered as his head came back down to the pillow and his left hand hovered gently over his mildly irritated genitals.

Turns out Sherlock had not been so still after all and instead had decided to explore attempting to crawl over John. And it was in said attempt when trying to use John's legs as steps that his little unsteady feet had slipped and unintentionally landed heavily on John's privates. Though why Sherlock felt the need to climb over John when he could have just as easily climbed over the pillow on the other side and achieved his aim, John would never know. Though on the plus side thank goodness he didn't, that would have been his third attempt at testing gravity and John really didn't want to live that…though probability was…one day Sherlock would succeed…and John would be there to appease it.

Turning to look at the clock on the bed side table, it was John’s turn to softly grunt; "Sherlock...it is 1:30 in the morning. Come on. Come on," he whispered hoarsely as he groggily pulled Sherlock up, with a single arm around the little torso from where he was down around his legs still struggling to balance himself and kicking John in the process.

Once Sherlock was back up around the pillows end of the bed John turned his body to face him and was determined to get this sleeping issue sorted once and for all. He rested his own head on one arm and placed his other hand firmly but gently over Sherlock's chest slowly encouraging him back down to a lying position and began whispering close to his ear; "Shh Shh Shh Shh..."

The boy struggled against the big hand which remained firm and steady against him keeping him in place. He squirmed in his spot making gurgling and grunting sounds of disapproval. He placed both little hands on John's hand and pushed and tugged every second or so but John continued on with his quiet lullaby. Until eventually...eventually...the darkness and the peace in the room along with the soothing and ever present, ever constant whispers of John's lips drew him in. 

Minutes later the two boys were fast asleep.

*****

When John finally came around again it was approximately 6:30 in the morning…and he wasn’t alone…raising a hand he gently placed it over the back of the little figure currently sprawled fast asleep over his chest. How they’d managed that he wouldn’t know but he was strangely at peace in this very moment.

Carefully lifting his head just enough to confirm the time on the clock he figured they had another half an hour or so before they needed to be up. Slowly and gently pulling that constant thumb out of that a little mouth, he hated the thought of having to wake him. Not so much because of how long it had taken _him_ to put Sherlock to sleep, but more because of how long it had taken _Sherlock_ to fall asleep…if that makes any sense. He hoped last night was not going to a recurrent event but he knew Sherlock well enough and perhaps he was right when he said this was his chance to make some adjustments to Sherlock’s unhealthy patterns.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the time it took me to upload this chapter. I had a lot of trouble getting it together and to be honest I was having doubts about the story and my ability to actually write it...*sigh* Regardless you know I appreciate every one of you! Hope you enjoy and thank you for reading xx

**Day 2**

John and Sherlock were picked up at exactly 8 o’clock. They were _ready_ at around 8:12. The nondescript black SUV that drove them served John many purposes. Turns out he had underestimated how long it would take to get Sherlock and himself showered, dressed, fed and out the door. He knows better now. So he’d run out holding Sherlock in one arm wearing nothing but a clean nappy and over his other shoulder a nappy bag which he hoped contained everything he might need.

Earlier that morning he had shifted and moved under a sleeping Sherlock with so much care he’d almost held his breath, until the boy was on his back on the bed. Taking the opportunity he’d made _very_ quick work in the shower and returned to find the little man still where he’d left him, arms spread out and little lips parted…much to his relief.

But John had had reason to be concerned about waking Sherlock. He was hardly a morning person to begin with and now the boy was more than a little grumpy. 

He had been dazed and groggy for the first ten minutes or so after been woken. However the moment John dipped him in the warm water he had prepared for him…Sherlock made his point and fought John through the entire bath. Thirty minutes later he was in the back of an SUV with a deep frown and a pouting lower lip.

Luckily John was only too used to Sherlock’s sulking moods; “Alright Sherlock. Arms up,” he said urgently as Sherlock sat on John’s lap with his back against John’s chest.

Sherlock was not going to help but at least he was pliant enough to let John tuck his arms into the sleeves of the little grey and white striped tee and then remaining still as it went over his head flattening his little curls. Once the matching leggings were pulled up over the nappy, John strapped him into the car seat that had come provided. 

“If I give you a bottle will you drink it?” asked John patiently

Sherlock turned his head to the window and in went the thumb.

John picked his battles and left the bottle…for the moment.

*****

The drive didn’t take long and John had to admit he was a little surprised when he finally realized they were been escorted through the corridors of the King Edward VII hospital having arrived through the basement parking.

As they entered a meeting room John immediately became more apprehensive. The polished table in the middle which seated ten people had only three available seats remaining. The people occupying the other seven fell silent at the sight of them. 

A silence which was only broken when a door in the opposite corner opened to reveal some familiar faces; “John,” acknowledged Mycroft as he entered. 

“Mycroft.”

Taking one look at Sherlock, Mycroft added knowingly; “Difficult morning I take it.”

Mycroft was followed in by none other than Leonard.

“Good morning Doctor Watson,” he said shyly

“Good morning.”

“Please, have a seat John,” indicated Mycroft as he proceeded to take his own.

John did so, adjusting Sherlock on his lap.

“John. May I introduce to you paediatric specialists Professor Thomas Morrison, psychologist Professor Alana Niccolacci, physiotherapist Doctor Jessica Reynolds, speech pathologist Doctor Eleanor Khan, neurosurgeon Mr Aidan Chan, cardiologist Professor Peter Andrews and geneticist Doctor Anil Lakumar.”

Each smiled and nodded in John’s direction as they went around. He returned the gesture.

“Pleasure.”

“You can probably imagine John why this team of specialist has been put together.”

Yes, John _imagined_ why but…he couldn’t help feel a little uncomfortable.

“There are of course a few other members of the medical profession on standby for when or should they be required.”

One of Sherlock’s little hands which had been openly resting over John’s leg had slowly turned into a grip.

“Everyone in this room was handpicked. They have been debriefed by Mr Blackburn and myself regarding my brother’s… _condition_ …under high levels of confidentiality of course.”

Sherlock shifted on John’s lap. John turned him in his arms and repositioned him over his left shoulder.

“My brother will undergo a series of tests to clear his health. Provided all is well he will continue to be monitored and tests will be repeated as many times as is necessary to maintain that.”

John frowned _definitely_ feeling uncomfortable now.

And if Sherlock’s tight little limbs were anything to go by he was feeling very much the same.

“So, if there aren’t any questions, shall we begin?” Mycroft asked looking around at everyone in the room who seemed ready to get up and move however…

“Mycroft,” John spoke.

Everyone stopped.

“May I have a word with you?” 

Taking their seats again the group looked between Mycroft and John.

“This way,” said Mycroft heading towards the door he had come through. John stood and followed him in.

The room attached was in fact a clinic room with a standard examination table on one side, a couple of very comfortable looking chairs on the other side and just adjacent a box containing toys and books neatly organized.

John was genuinely feeling upset now though he wasn’t entirely sure why or if he had any right or reason to.

Mycroft allowed him a moment to start.

“As much as I appreciate the necessity of all this Mycroft…we did agree that Sherlock would not be put on display as some strange case that needs to be studied,” sounding perhaps a little more forceful than he had meant to.

Mycroft measured his words and tone; “My brother is not here on ‘display’ to be ‘studied’ as you put it Doctor Watson. But he is human and despite having taken an unknown substance from a different planet, his body is still that of a human and therefore must be monitored as such. And by the best in their field.”

John looked around the room once more and then to the set of curls leaning on his shoulder.

“Ok. Fine. But I will be present during every single one of these tests and if I don’t agree with them he is not having them,” was his defiant reply.

Sherlock began to slowly rub his little face from side to side against John’s shoulder.

“Doctor Watson. Need I remind you that legally _I_ am by brother’s guardian. I have allowed you to take the reins of the situation for reasons you know too well however his welfare is my one and only concern and I will have no issues with enforcing my legal rights.”

“Are you threatening me Mycroft?”

“I never threaten John. You should know better by now.”

The air in the room was brutally heavy for a moment until; “I don’t want him to…” unable to complete his sentence John stopped.

“Doctor Watson. You and I both want the same thing. Now we must work together to achieve it.”

John’s silence emitted his acceptance. Sherlock seemed to sink deeper into John’s neck.

“Fair enough,” said John softly clearing his throat. “Could you all just give us a minute though? I want to see if he’ll take a bottle. He hasn’t had anything.”

Without another word Mycroft stepped back out into the meeting room closing the door behind him, leaving John alone and in silence with Sherlock.

“Hey,” he began, attempting to pull Sherlock back just enough to see him. Sherlock was not budging and kept his head weighed down. “Sherlock,” John whispered. “Look at me.” He placed a hand under Sherlock’s tucked in chin and slowly, slowly pulled that little face towards him finding Sherlock’s eyes a little glazed.

John felt a knot in his throat. 

Swallowing it he whispered; “It’s you and me Sherlock. Not you, me and your brother. You and me.”

He gave them both a moment.

“Now. You, will have a bottle for the both of us,” he said as he placed the nappy bag on one of the chairs and dug through it. “Because I am running on nothing but air and the will to live.”

*****

“I hope you don’t find our presence too intruding. You’re a doctor yourself and…” Professor Thomas Morrison paused with a soft smile. 

John shrugged lightly; “I’m not paediatrician. And I trust Mycroft’s judgement.”

“Orders came from high.”

John didn’t doubt that for a second.

“So, do you have any concerns about him at the moment?”

John took a deep breath and released it; “Uh…no. Nothing in particular…for the situation I mean.” He shrugged; “I discovered this morning he has a nappy rash…but then I half expected it. He wouldn’t be Sherlock if he wasn’t so bloody delicate.”

*****

“Have you noticed any strange or unusual behaviour?” asked Professor Alana Niccolacci

John raised an eyebrow. She smiled in understanding; “I mean…other than the obvious?”

John smiled but his thoughts quickly caught up to him and that smile soon faded; “It’s hard to say really. I mean I know he understands me or at least I like to think he does. I _know_ Sherlock is…still in there…I just don’t know how much of him…” knowing how strange his words sounded. “There…” he paused changing the mood a little. “There are moments though when he’ll act…or have certain gestures that…would be perfectly normal for a 6 month old. It’s almost like…I don’t know. Like his brain can’t decide if he’s a child or an adult and he just had to alternate between the two.”

Alana seemed to take in his words.

“I was speaking with Mr Blackburn before and he mentioned something that I don’t know if you’re aware of. He said that the reversal itself should have been complete. And by that he means that it should have wiped Sherlock’s memory entirely. He should not be able to recognize or even remember you.”

John had nothing more to say. But he held onto that thought and many others as he looked down at Sherlock sitting by his feet a picture of concentration trying to figure out John’s phone but having a hard enough time just keeping it between his two little hands.

John refused to bring up things like the obvious attachment Sherlock had to him or the constant thumb sucking that could be considered normal but also some form of anxiety…there were certain things that no one needed to delve into. Certain things that would remain just between them two.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how grateful I am for your lovely comments and feedback and overall awesomeness!! You're all wonderful!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter. I probably won't be able to update for a few days but I'll try.
> 
> Again thank you all so much!! xx

“How is his function? His motor skills?” asked Doctor Jessica Reynolds

“Uh, fine, I think. He crawls, he kicks, he slaps…hasn’t changed a bit really.”

She smiled then paused to simply observe Sherlock who hadn’t moved from John’s feet.

“Sherlock,” she began. “Can you come here for a second?” she asked him.

She was ignored. 

“Sherlock,” she insisted softly.

Nothing.

John sighed and excused him; “I’m sorry. It hasn’t exactly been the best of mornings.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “He can sit up all on his own which is a really good indicator. I haven’t seen him crawl or attempt to stand up though which is something we like to monitor. Would you mind if I do a couple of things?”

John seemed a little unsure for half a second; “Um, sure…”

Jessica moved from her chair and picked Sherlock, who didn’t so much as flinch, up from the floor. Taking him over to the examination table she laid him down and began to rub his little outstretched legs. She then began to bend them in all angles with a great amount of care and gentleness but with the appropriate amount of pressure. It seemed however that though those little legs went where the physiotherapist led them, once she let them go they would fall back down to the table with a flop. No kicking. No struggling. Nothing. Just limp, little legs.

With a frown that John didn’t miss, Jessica continued with her examination as she held Sherlock up from just under his little armpits attempting to get his little feet flat on the table and his little knees up straight in the hope that he would try to keep his balance and stand. To her disappointment those little legs instead sagged and bent with all their weight.

All the while John witnessed this between narrowed eyes.

*****

“I’d never actually met Mr Holmes. Had he always been shy and quiet?” asked Doctor Eleanor Khan.

“Who? Sherlock?” John tried desperately not to snort. “Uh…no. No. He was…he was vocal alright.”

“So this change has come about since the reversal?”

Now John really was struggling not to snort; “Um…no. I mean…he’s been…alright I’d like to think…”

“Ok. Any difficulties with feeding? Sucking? Swallowing?”

“No. No. Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Good. And he’s had a healthy appetite?”

“Oh…” John let out a breath. “Let’s go with yes.”

She gave him a curious look and then stood from her chair and knelt in front of Sherlock; “Sherlock. Sherlock can you look at me?”

After a beat or so Sherlock lifted his head and met her eyes

“Hello,” she said softly. “How are you?”

John watched intently.

“Sherlock. Can you understand me?” she asked. 

Silence.

“Sherlock,” she insisted.

No one seemed to move until…Sherlock lifted the phone up to his mouth and closed his lips around it only to have it taken out by John with a sigh; “Sherlock. Don’t.”

It was then that Eleanor Khan heard the first and last thing that would come out of Sherlock’s mouth; a deep and disgruntled grunt.

*****

In the end it had been a tedious and long three hours in which a paediatrician had _not_ given them anything for a nappy rash, they had _not_ spoken to the psychologist as much as she had spoken to them, a physiotherapist had _not_ seen Sherlock do much more than, well, flop, a speech pathologist heard not much more than a grunt and his ECG had been postponed to match with his blood tests and MRI because ‘unfortunately’ Sherlock had accepted his bottle earlier…

Ultimately though, John had never been so glad to see the back of so many heads as they left with their folders and notes and looks of disturbing fascination that had really started to get on John’s nerves.

He had asked them for a moment alone in the room to do a quick nappy check before they left, which wasn’t entirely a lie however…

Leaning over he rested his elbows on his legs and clasped his hands; “You keep that up and they’re going to cut you open thinking there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

Sherlock turned his head around and up to meet John’s eyes.

“Yeah you’re right. I wouldn’t let them,” added John.

And there it was. The cheekiest and most magnificent smile drawn on Sherlock’s little toothless mouth as the bubbliest of giggles suddenly burst out of him. So contagious and deep was it that John couldn’t help but burst into laughter himself. 

The genuine joy threw Sherlock off balance as he suddenly fell to one side, only increasing his fit with an additional high pitched squeal. John had just missed him as he fell but pulled him back up trying to get his own laughter under control.

“Oh God, Sherlock,” he whispered as he wiped his eyes. “You idiot. You great, marvellous idiot.”

Sherlock was still smiling and looking very proud of himself as he bounced forward onto his hands and began to crawl at an almost desperate speed towards the door all the while delivering what seemed like an endless soliloquy.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” John said as he pushed himself off the chair. Reaching Sherlock he wrapped one arm around his belly and lifted him into the air. “You may have fooled them, but you’re not fooling me. That nappy needs to go!”

*****

Their early morning had now drifted into midday and John had at least another two hours before he needed to be at the clinic. So he thought after their morning ordeal, they both deserved a bit of sun and a treat. 

Leaving the hospital he began his 15 minute walk towards a café close to Baker street that both John and Sherlock were very fond of.

“Hi! How you going?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Not too bad. Who’s this little guy?”

“Oh. Long story.”

“He’s absolutely precious,” she said standing at the door of the café. “Hi sweetheart,” she tried, running her hand down Sherlock’s back who simply wriggled away from the touch and keeping his gaze over John’s shoulder. “So, table for two?”

“Yeah. Can we seat out here?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

She walked with them to the chosen table and took his order.

“Um can I grab a chicken and mushroom pie and a flat white? What’s the soup of the day?”

“For the little guy?” she asked though not so much as a question but a filler.

“Yeah. He’s only had a bottle. I should probably get something more substantial in him.”

“Yeah. It’s actually cauliflower and cream soup.”

“Freshly made?”

“Of course John. You know us.”

“I know. Alright, I’ll grab that too thanks.”

“Sure thing. Do you want me to get a highchair?”

“Uh yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”

“Sure. I’ll be over in a sec.”

She headed back inside and was back with it in no time.

Perhaps it was all the pent up energy that Sherlock had not been able to put to use this morning that had him kicking and swinging his legs and slapping his open palms against the top of the highchair.

“Slow down there Sherlock, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” grinned John quite happy to let Sherlock continue with whatever it was that had him so energized.

*****

They were almost through their meal, or rather John was almost through _his_ meal. Half of Sherlock’s soup was currently in a puddle on the highchair’s top as he dipped his little hands in the mess and watched it drip from his closed little fists with interest. John could only be thankful he’d managed to get the other half actually into him but was cringing at the thought of having to clean him up. The waiters weren’t looking all too pleased at having to clean up the mess either.

It was however in one those moments, when Sherlock’s eyes looked intent and deep in thought that John realized…his eyelids were in fact slowly drooping closed. 

Not wanting to scare Sherlock out of it he continued on with his lunch all the while watching him discreetly out of the corner of his eye. 

Sherlock, not one to give up easily, struggled through it. His lids would slide closed. Then back open. Then closed. Then open. Soon enough they closed for long enough that when he opened them it was with a jolt. Then slowly, they drooped closed again. Then open. And then finally closed long enough that his little head fell forward and almost straight into his own messy soup if it had not been for John who quickly placed his open palm over his forehead just in time. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open with a look of mild confusion but soon enough he relaxed into the familiar touch as his eyes began to slide closed again.

John couldn’t help an amused smile.

He really couldn’t believe his eyes.

All that energy had completely worn his little body out.

Sighing he lifted Sherlock’s little head just enough; “Ok. Time to go home.” Twisting himself he searched the nappy bag with his other hand for a towel.

“Do you need a hand?” asked the familiar waitress

“Oh thank you. Yeah,” whispered John as he stood up and stepped behind the high chair holding onto Sherlock’s little head with one hand and taking hold of his two little dirty hands in the towel with his other hand. The waitress unclipped the messy table top and took it with her giving John space enough to lean over Sherlock’s shoulder and begin a quick clean-up. He really couldn’t manage much more than that but at least they weren’t dripping with soup anymore. Besides he would need to change for work regardless.

Walking back around he unstrapped Sherlock amongst the endearing looks he was getting from those around and lifting him out he adjusted him in his arms. That little head fitting and resting nicely against his shoulder. A soft and even breathe tickling his neck.

Managing to take some cash out with one hand, he handed it to the same waitress who had returned to see if she could be of more help. Not wanting to mix the dirty towel with everything else, he carried it in his hand as he placed the nappy bag back over his other shoulder.

With one last look around to make sure he had everything, he began their walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely, sincerely hope I have not (very unintentionally) insulted anyone in the medical professions I have mentioned. I work in that field myself so I have great respect for you all! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always, always grateful!! You are all so amazing and I’m so blessed to have you as readers!! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and feedback that keep me writing this! Thank you xxx

Walking into 221 John came across Mrs Hudson in the foyer.

“Hello darlings,” she began immediately lowering her voice to a whisper at seeing Sherlock completely out over John’s shoulder.

“Hello,” John whispered. “I lost him over lunch," he explained.

“Oh poor darling,” she whispered. “Dear,” she said placing her hand on John’s arm clearly intending to change the subject. “There’s a young lady upstairs waiting for you.”

John frowned; “Who?”

“She didn’t say. Looks a bit mysterious and could definitely do with a few manners!” she said in a rougher whisper that made John smile.

“Let’s go investigate,” he whispered back with a touch of humour and exaggeration in his voice

Heading upstairs he quietly opened the door to the flat and found exactly what Mrs Hudson had said; a young lady, blond hair and pretty eyes.

Completely unknown.

She stood up at the sight of them.

“Hello. Can I help you?” he asked leaving the nappy bag and dirty towel by the door and walking further in followed by Mrs Hudson.

“No. But I am here to help _you_. My name is Mary Morstan,” she said. “And I'm your new nanny.”

“Excuse me?” tilting his head a little in the hope it would help him understand.

“I'm your new nanny. Or rather, Mr Sherlock Holmes’ new nanny. I was hired by Mr Mycroft Holmes.”

John frowned feeling himself getting a little riled up.

“Is this his idea of a bad joke?” he asked

She frowned slightly taken aback; “Um…no. Not at all.” Taking a folder out of her bag she handed it to him. “Here are my credentials.”

John took the folio out of politeness but with no intention of opening it; “Um…Mary. Was it Mary?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Mary. I don’t, or rather _we_ don’t need a nanny. We’re perfectly fine and Mycroft should really know better than this.”

Mary was looking a little tense and confused; “But…”

“I’m sure you are a marvellous nanny, Mary, but we really don’t need your help,” he continued as he handed her folio back. “So, I’m terribly sorry you came all the way over here and I’m sorry you were evidently promised a job that wasn’t actually available.”

“Well I’ll have to report back to Mr Mycroft Holmes,” she said clearly reluctant to go.

“You do that. And tell him I’ll be having a word with him very shortly.”

Looking a little upset but mostly just off balance, she seemed to consider the situation for a moment before making her decision, picking her bag up and after a small nod, walked out of the flat.

“That was a bit rude, wasn’t it?” asked Mrs Hudson.

John made a small sound of agreement; “I’m sure that wasn’t the end of that. Anyway, I’ll deal with that later.” His thoughts instead quickly moved to his task at hand.

With a sigh he walked straight to Sherlock’s room. Unclipping one side of the cot with his free hand, he then used both hands to carefully lower Sherlock down onto it. He remained there and in very close contact until he was sure the little boy was going to stay put and asleep. Standing back up, he carefully and quietly lifted the side of the cot again and locked it back into place.

Behind him was Mrs Hudson who watched it all with such tenderness in her eyes.

“Um I have to get to work,” he whispered still watching Sherlock but soon turning to face Mrs Hudson. “I really hate to do this to you.”

“Dear. I _want_ to look after him. I mean it,” she whispered genuinely.

John smiled; “I know and you have no idea how grateful I am. I’m just worried about when he wakes up. That’s all. I mean everything and anything you might need is here or in the kitchen. Um…he probably won’t take more than a bottle but that’ll probably be much later, knowing him. And, I mean I finish at 7:30 so I should be back by 8. 8:30 latest. Um…” he was thinking…what else…what else….

“Dear. Go,” she ordered sweetly. “I’ll manage. We don’t need any nanny’s or babysitters. You’ve got me.”

"Thank you so much," he whispered.

“You need get going. Come on.”

And he did. So she left him alone to do what he needed to do.

Half an hour later he was showered, dressed and ready to go. Making sure he had everything, he walked to the cot to take one last look at Sherlock who was still out.

He watched him for a moment. And, for whatever reason, let's call it impulse, he lowered his hand and just barely ran his fingertips over those dark curls.

Sherlock’s breathing quickened a little.

Lifting his hand immediately in fear that he might wake him, John took one last look, walked out of the room and headed off to work.

*****

Never…in his years as doctor and a soldier…had a 5 hour shift felt…so…eternal.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it but…he was actually really missing Sherlock. He was having trouble concentrating. He was hearing children cry everywhere. His hands were itching to reach for his phone and call home just to make sure all was well.

Wow. Was this what it felt like? Parenting?

If it was. He could see a problem in his horizon…

But John knew he was a doctor and his patients deserved his full attention. So taking a deep breath, he focused and avoided at all cost looking at the clock.

“John.”

He looked up from his keyboard where he was typing some notes on his last patient.

“Sarah.”

She made her way in almost shyly and closed the door behind her.

Leaving his keyboard he turned his attention to her.

“How are you?” she asked remaining close to the door.

“Good. Good. You?”

“Fine. Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“How’s um, how’s Hamish?” she asked

John eye’s narrowed a little; “Fine. Fine. Mrs Hudson’s doing me the favour of looking after him tonight.”

“Good. Good. And…you’re ok? Handling it well?”

John took a deep breath trying to find an air of humour in his voice; “So far so good. It’s too early to tell. Though I can’t help feel like I want to be in two places at the same time right now.”

She smiled; “I can imagine.”

She seemed to run through a few thoughts in her mind; “Hey um.” She built up some strength; “I want to apologize for yesterday. I was…out of line and frankly very rude”

John agreed but was not about to say that, so instead; “It’s fine.”

“No. No it’s not,” she was getting fidgety. “It’s just…” she was having a hard time putting her thoughts into words. “Certain things remind me…of…all the reasons we...didn't...you know.”

“Sarah…” he wanted to stop her right there.

“No. No. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go into that,” she smiled reassuring him. “I just…” she took her time. “If you need anything…just…let me know. Ok?”

John would never ask her for anything. He did however also agree with her words...or lack thereof. Sherlock, intentionally or not, seemed to always find his way between him and everything else. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He hadn’t really stopped to think about it…and now was evidently not the time.

“Thank you,” he replied.

She nodded looking a little awkward but somehow relieved; “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to…” she pointed at his computer.

“Yeah. And thanks again.”

“Sure.”

She was about to leave when; “Actually Sarah…”

*****

John had never made his way home at the speed he did. He was tired but there was definitely something else driving his desire and need to be home. It was…just that knowledge that he was going home to someone whom he hoped was waiting for him.

But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was also very worried about how the afternoon might have played out at the flat. Mrs Hudson, bless her soul, was an incredible human who would go out of her way for them, but admittedly Sherlock was a hand full regardless of his age. He really was hoping against hope that the flat and its inhabitants had survived the afternoon.

Unlocking the front door he made his way up the stairs two by two and coming around the corner to the last flight of stairs that led to their door he stopped dead. A smile drew on his face however it was quickly erased feeling his heart clench and his eyes burn a little.

The door to the flat was open. 

And there he was. Patiently. Waiting. Watching.

Sitting up. Little legs folded as far as he could. By the door in this dimly lit room.

Sherlock was waiting for him.

Literally.

It only took a heartbeat of a moment for Sherlock’s little red and puffy looking eyes to well up and release two heavy tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is a little of a personal experience actually hehe according to my mom and the nanny I had at the time, when I was around that same age (6 months) I had come to know what time my mom got home from work . So every day at around that time I would sit on the floor or in the pram and just stare at the door waiting for my mom to walk in…hehe silly but true :)
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up by Friday night :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry for the delay on this chapter. It’s been a chaotic week at work. But this story is a priority of mine :) Your comments are always lovely and amazing and I appreciate your patience with me!  
> Thank you all so much and enjoy! xxx

“Hey,” John whispered feeling his voice break.

Making it to the top, he immediately took Sherlock up in his arms holding tight. Little arms in exchange, wrapped themselves around John’s neck as tears began to roll very quietly but very freely.

“Hey,” John continued to whisper into Sherlock’s ear cupping the little head with his hand.

He had feared this. 

But he also knew it _would_ happen.

Rubbing Sherlock’s back softly, he leaned his head into the little one that dug deeper into his neck. 

Looking up he found Mrs Hudson on the sofa from where she’d been watching Sherlock all along.

She looked exhausted.

Perhaps that whole nanny business might need to be reconsidered...

“Hello dear.”

“Hi.”

She stood up and made her way to him.

Whispering she explained; “He woke up about half an hour after you left. Cried for almost two hours straight. I was actually getting a little frightened for him. But I finally convinced him that you _were_ coming back,” her gaze going a little absent. “And I explained to him over and over what time we would expect you home. And so he crawled to the door and hasn’t moved since. He just sat there. I tried to distract him but it was no use.”

“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed back.

“Oh don’t be silly dear.”

“Thank you so much,” he reiterated.

She smiled patting John’s arm; “Always”.

“We are going to have to do something about this though.”

John nodded twice and sighed; “I know. I know”

She sighed; “I’ll leave you two boys. But if you need anything during the night please come and get me. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Goodnight my darlings,” she whispered placing a kiss on Sherlock’s little back

“Goodnight.”

John led her out and closing the door behind her. He then made his way to the sofa and slowly took a seat.

Sherlock had been clinging to John for what felt like dear life. Heavy drops ran against the skin of John’s neck and onto his shirt.

“Hey,” he whispered turning his head just enough to reach Sherlock’s ear. “I’m here.”

And slowly, very slowly, Sherlock lifted his little head until he could see John’s face.

“Hello you,” John whispered playfully. “Did you think I was gone? You’re not getting rid of me so easily. I thought we’d established that.”

Sherlock, with eyes red, swollen and still a little wet, didn’t make a sound but instead began to slowly run little fingertips lightly, down and around John’s face…making sure he really was there? Who knew? Who really knew what went on in that little head? But whatever it was…John felt a tug at his heart that was really hurting him.

Was this what Sherlock’s life was like? Was this what his mind constantly taunted him with? An ever present fear that the people around him would just one day disappear? That he, John, would one day just up and leave without so much as a word?

If that was the case, John was determined to rid him of that fear.

“I’m here,” he whispered looking straight into his eyes. “And guess what? I’ve got something for you.”

*****

The afternoon had clearly taken a toll on Sherlock. So even though he was tired, John’s priority was this little man and making it up to him. He decided that perhaps a nice warm bath followed by a bottle might just be the way to go. Sherlock had clearly not allowed Mrs Hudson to get too close, so he was still a little sticky and smelling faintly of cauliflower soup…which was making John quietly smile.

Yeah, sticky kids…he knew it was only a matter of time.

So, with Sherlock in arms, he set about getting everything ready. Leaving the water running to fill the small tub at the right temperature, he then placed Sherlock on the changer and rid him of his dirty clothes which he threw in the hamper and then removed the dirty nappy.

But as the minutes went by, John couldn’t help but feel more and more disappointed. Sherlock was being awfully quiet. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t make a sound. He just allowed everything to happen to him and around him with eyes sad and deep in thought. 

John felt a sense of guilt rise in him. Two days in and he’d already screwed up.

Sighing soundlessly, he picked Sherlock up, walked over to the tub and making sure the water was just right and the tub was full enough, he turned the tap off and slowly lowered the little body in.

And for a moment…everything was just still and quiet.

Sherlock, sitting in the tub half covered in water. John, sitting on his heels as he knelt on the floor just beside.

Little hands had come to rest in tight fists just under the water as his eyes remained fixed on the transparency of it.  
It was a small action, or _reaction_ rather, but it certainly hadn’t gone past John, and so slowly lowering one hand into the water, he reached for one of those little fists and wrapped his hand around it.

They were always good this way. They had always been good at…not saying anything. And sometimes that was more than enough.

That fist began to loosen up until that little hand had instead wrapped around two of John’s fingers. Tight.

It felt like the energy was shifting, if only a little, but enough that John raised his other hand and ran it slowly through Sherlock’s curls. He knew this was far from over, but as they met eye to eye, he thought perhaps for the moment, this was enough.

“There you are,” he whispered. 

*****

“Ok. Remember what we agreed? We read 4 pages and lights out. Ok?”

Sherlock looked at him dubiously from where he sat half way down the bed.

“Come here,” John said as he extended his left arm to the side indicating where he wanted Sherlock to wriggle into.

Leaning forward Sherlock made his way to the little nook John had made to his left but he remained seated facing John.

“You wanna stay there?”

Silence.

“Ok,” John shrugged as he picked up the heavy anatomy book he’d placed on his other side.

For months Sherlock had begged John to bring home a ‘History of Anatomy’ book that Sarah had in her office. It was bulky, heavy, had at least 300 years’ worth of history in it and was a one-of-a-kind. It explained in detail, accounts of strange and ground-breaking findings in the field. And for months John had never caved to Sherlock’s demand but…for some reason…that afternoon…he thought maybe Sherlock deserved it. Just this once. Besides, John was hoping to get another use out of it.

Having gone through the index during dinner he’d edited out some pages that he simply could not bring himself to read, let alone show Sherlock. Sure, technically speaking Sherlock was an adult but for the moment he was a child, and no child should be exposed to certain things, especially when the book was to be used as a bedtime story. 

And so he began.

His voice soft and even in the dimly lit room.

By the time he’d made it to third page, a heavy bundle had wormed his way up onto his chest and was listening carefully to his words.

But eventually; “Ok. That’s it,” he said closing the book as best as he could without trapping Sherlock between the pages.

John had expected the immediate protest Sherlock put up as he flung himself towards the book. But John was determined to set some boundaries and rules. Sherlock’s sleeping pattern needed to be helped and yes, maybe he was going about it the wrong way but he wouldn’t know until he tried.

“No. Lights out,” he stated unwavering as he pulled the book from under Sherlock who had trapped it with his weight.

Placing it on the bedside table he flicked the lamp off.

And suddenly the night felt like one, long déjà vu.

So he paced the room with a restless and loud Sherlock in arms.

“Sherlock,” he whispered

Sherlock only pushed and kicked and wriggled some more.

“Sherlock,” he said a little louder and with a definite, serious tone to his voice. “I don’t want to, but if you keep going like this I will put you in your cot and that will be the end of it. I don’t care how loud you scream.”

Sherlock was still very reluctant and even though his limbs ceased to fight, the grunts coming from deep in his little chest were relentless.

“Just try for me. Please,” he asked lowering his tone to a whisper.

*****

_“I have in my hands a summary of my brother’s results from this morning.”_

_John smiled; “And did we pass?”_

_Mycroft feigned amusement but his tone grew serious; “Very humorous Doctor Watson. But don’t make me remind you of our conversation from this morning.”_

John was finding that the silence of his nights gave him the space he needed to digest the day’s events. And so pacing the room he went back over his evening and a conversation that had been pending between him and Mycroft.

They had been sitting on the couch, Sherlock on John’s lap leaning against his chest and sucking obediently on a bottle as John had one arm wrapped his belly for support. John, who had been starving but was too tired to make anything, had ordered a pizza and was using his other hand to eat.

He was half way through his third slice when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

Balancing Sherlock on his lap, he reached for it with his clean hand.

_“What do you want from me Mycroft?”_

_“I want you **both** to stop fooling around!”_

_Sherlock seemingly unaware of the conversation going on behind him sat entranced on the animal documentary playing on the television. He would stop sucking on the bottle. Then continue. Then stop. Then continue. His little eyes fixated on the screen._

_“You are both due back at hospital tomorrow morning at 8 to complete the round of assessments that were planned. And Sherlock **will** cooperate. As will you Doctor Watson.”_

_John took a long breath; “Would you like anything else with that?”_

_“Yes as a matter of fact. Ms Morstan.”_

_“She’s all yours.”_

_“You need the help.”_

_“And you think imposing this is the way to go?”_

_“You think brother’s behaviour from this afternoon is normal?”_

_“How…are you still watching this flat?” he asked sitting up a little straighter. “I’m sure there are laws against that!”_

_“You cannot be with him all the time. Ms Morstan is a necessity.”_

_“And you think Sherlock will submit willingly?”_

_“My brother needs boundaries and if you cannot set them, then I will have to step in.”_

_“Mycroft!” John snapped. He’d had enough. “You’ve been threatening to take Sherlock away from me since this morning. And maybe legally, even if I fight you, I probably would not be able to stop you. But until you have something to state that, Sherlock is under my care. And the one who is going to set the boundaries is me. I do not and I will not leave Sherlock alone with a complete stranger, no matter who she is!” He paused as his voice lost a bit of strength; “I’m trying really hard here Mycroft and…God knows how much longer this is going to go on for but…just give me a chance…just…just stop ok…” his free arm coming to wrap around Sherlock’s belly once again._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! I know this chapter is relatively short in comparison to my usual but I've been writing all day and thought I'd post this one up. I will slowly start skipping days because I don't want to bore you lovely people and because certain things need to happen along this timeline I've got running in my head...hmmm
> 
> I will never tire of saying you are all amazing and incredible! Thank you so very much and hope you continue to enjoy!! :D xx

**Day 3**

_“I’ll be here when you wake up,” John whispered looking him straight in the eyes. “I promise.”_

That had been three hours ago.

He was now reclining on a frankly very comfortable one seater in their private room, holding a sedated Sherlock in his arms and waiting for said ‘wakening’ to happen.

Earlier that morning they had been escorted down the corridors of King Edward VII, only this time they’d headed straight to a private room. Sherlock’s medical team had decided that in order to avoid any chaos they would give Sherlock an IV sedative and complete most of the exams in such a way.

As much as John had found Sherlock’s behaviour towards his team of specialist amusing, the Doctor and newly found “dad” in him wanted to be certain that Sherlock was perfectly fine and healthy. So today, in spite of Sherlock and maybe even himself a little, they would do things properly and allow the procedures to occur without opposition or melodrama. And just as well, because John really couldn’t see how Sherlock could fake his way out of this…that’s not to say he wouldn’t try.

The test themselves had gone without a hitch. John had been present through them all and even though they were still awaiting the full set of results, John had gotten a general idea and was quite content. 

Getting Sherlock under…well that was a whole different story. A lovely and patient registered nurse had done all the preliminaries in his room to which he’d of course skidded and jerked away from until John had been forced to take over. 

*****

_“Can I have a look at your hands darling?”_

_John raised an eyebrow knowing those endearments were only going to rile Sherlock up but he kept quiet for the moment._

_Sherlock shifted away from her._

_“Come on Sherlock,” John prompted pulling Sherlock’s thumb out of his mouth and taking hold of both of his wrists, facing them in her direction._

_She smiled as she took a tube of EMLA cream from the top of her trolley, squeezed some out on the top side of each hand and then taped it off for it to take effect._

_Secondly: Temperature._

_Out came a digital thermometer which would have gone straight into Sherlock’s ear had he not jerked back and was instead poked on the cheek._

_“Sherlock,” John warned._

_Sherlock ignored him and made an attempt to bolt to the end of the bed._

_“Come on,” ordered John bringing him back up and taking Sherlock’s little head between his hands holding it still despite Sherlock’s desperate attempts to push him away. “Sherlock, you’re only gonna hurt yourself.”_

_The nurse continued to smile in gratitude._

_Third: Weight._

_The nurse would have attempted to pick Sherlock up but John took the initiative and walking over to the portable scale she’d brought in with her, he placed him on it. The moment he let go, Sherlock took hold of the edge and attempted to pull himself away but it was to no use. John pulled him back into place and unintentionally did a frighteningly close impersonation of his own parent; “Sherlock. Second warning.”_

_The nurse tightened her lips to avoid a giggle and instead; “That is a healthy…8.1 kilos.”_

_It was John’s turn to smile; “You **are** a tubby one, aren’t you?”_

_Sherlock leaped forward with an angry grunt clearly desperate to get off the scale._

_“I’m sorry,” John apologized genuinely as he reached for Sherlock’s arms and took him back to the bed._

*****

Sherlock’s eyelids began to flutter as three fingers on his left hand twitched.

But they soon stopped.

*****

_“I’ll be here when you wake up,” John whispered looking him straight in the eyes. “I promise.”_

_With gloved hands he took Sherlock’s little left hand, peeled the tape off and wiped most of the cream off._

_All along Sherlock quietly followed John with his eyes._

_“I promise,” John reiterated_

_It had been a few years since he had had to find a vein and never had he felt more pressure to perform than today. He was determined to do it one go. He’d hate to mark Sherlock’s perfect porcelain skin with any bruises._

_“I promise,” he chanted one last time as he pricked the skin and watched the needle carefully make its way in._

*****

“I have his results,” John heard Mycroft’s voice from the door.

He blinked but didn’t bother to look up and instead kept his eyes on Sherlock; “Well?”

“All clear.”

John smiled faintly as he let out a soft, short breath in relief.

Mycroft had made his way to the window closest to where John was sitting. He began to watch the people outside, hands clasped behind his back.

What was it about these brothers?

What was it that made them so…fucking…incomprehensible?

John knew Mycroft had been worried. It was written all over his demeanour. Anyone else would fail to see it. But this was John…

“You were right,” John’s voice sounded a little strange to his own ears. “We need to work together. But you need to respect us and respect me and the way I want to do this. It’s not easy this whole…sudden parenthood thing…” John let out the softest and shortest of giggles. “Your brother could…return to ‘normal’ tonight, in a week…in a year for all we know…but I want to do this. The day Sherlock decides he doesn’t want me around anymore well then…that’s it. He’s all yours. But…until…”

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered again.

*****

“Alright buddy. We’re home,” John stepped through the doors of 221.

It had taken Sherlock back at the hospital another half an hour or so to wake. John, much to his own amusement, discovered that the sedative would take a little longer than that to wear off…

Sherlock’s eyes were a little hazy and his speech was slurred, though that didn’t stop him as it seemed he’d woken up with a lot to say. His head weighed him down and he’d found a new fascination for his own hands.

More than once had John snorted at Sherlock’s less than usual behaviour…for him that is.

“You are going straight to…” he stopped. “How do you people get in?” he asked looking around confused. “What…what are you…what?”

Opening the door to 221B he’d found in his living room a ‘gathering’ of sorts.

“Hello!”

“What are you all doing here?” demanded John

“I need to speak to Sherlock,” stated Lestrade

“I wanted to speak with you,” said Mary

“We came to see you both,” said the Doctor almost in unison with Clara. “And for the great tea! Thank you Mrs Hudson!” the Doctor raised his voice from the living room towards the kitchen where John assumed she was.

“Ok. I have a semi-drugged child with me that I need to take care of so if you all wouldn’t mind…” John attempted.

“Who is he?” asked Lestrade

“Sher…” began the Doctor

“Hamish!” interrupted John

Lestrade looked between them both

“Would you like me to take him?” asked Mary

“I’ll come with you!” offered Clara

John was quickly getting a headache. Why couldn’t people leave them alone?

Whether Sherlock had protested or not at being taken by Mary would remain a mystery. Sure his little arms and legs moved and John was sure he heard him say something, but all his actions were so blurred into one another…he wasn’t sure.

But once the men were alone, John took a deep breath; “Ok.”

*****

“I don’t know…what…to say...”

“Sounds about right,” sighed John staring into the distance.

“So…Sherlock…is no longer Sherlock?” asked Lestrade completely stunted

“He is…he’s just…not… _as_ …big…”

Lestrade sat there completely dumbfounded. But he tried again; “I don’t...” He couldn’t.

There was a pause. A long pause…

Until; “Oh my God! You’re changing his diapers aren’t you?” he asked half way between shocked and amused.

John narrowed his eyes; “Really? That’s what you’re gonna go with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I have a story in my head and certain things that are to come which are set, I am also open to suggestions as to anything you would like to see happen and/or of course any criticism. x


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you again so much for your patience and your comments!! I think I'm taking a little longer because I'm trying to make each chapter work as best as I can and sometimes that takes me a little longer than I wish it did. I'm really sorry. As you already know I think you're all incredible and amazing!!Hope you enjoy this chapter and know that I will work on the ideas and suggestions I received.
> 
> Thank you!! :D xxx

“If I need a babysitter I’m calling you!” John called out as Lestrade jumped into the police marked vehicle.

And so as the detective inspector cleared out to _clear_ his head confused but terribly amused, John headed back upstairs to attempt and rid himself of his other three unwanted guests.

“Well that could have been worse!” said the Doctor looking all too proud of himself in the middle of the living room with hands clasped together.

John instead, with hands in pockets, looked sceptical if anything. 

To be honest he still wasn’t entirely sure he liked this person in front of him very much. This whole ‘mystery’ behind him. A whole story he didn’t quite yet know.

But then now was probably not the time.

“You know, Sherlock had some tests done this morning and I really do need to keep an eye on him. So unless you have news about this whole situation, you really are free to go.”

“Ah! What if I told you that I do?” asked the Doctor with a spark in his eyes as he began his usual sway from side to side.

John’s attention was immediately caught as he stood a little straighter; “You do?”

“Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

“I mean that I may or may not.”

John’s eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath of patience; “Go on.”

“I need you and Sherlock to come with me.”

“Where?”

The Doctor looked as he if was thinking his words through; “Clara and I may have…found someone who might…be able to reverse this…”

“Might?”

“Might.”

“ _Might_ is not what I want to hear.”

“Oh come on John,” insisted the Doctor completely unfazed by John’s slightly dismissive attitude.

“Who is this person? Where are they?”

“They…” the Doctor considered his words again. “They don’t exactly live here…”

“What do you mean? Not here in London? Not here in England? What?”

“Not here on planet earth.”

John wasn’t sure how much more of this he could handle without cracking. He shook his head slightly as a short, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. His hands came up to cover his eyes for a second as he breathed out a; “Wow. You know what, I really don’t….” he didn’t even have the words.

“ _Don’t what_ John?” asked the Doctor, his eyes pinning John as his voice deepened a little. Sounding a little more direct. Taking one slow step at a time towards John, he continued; “I know you’ve had a hard time wrapping your head around this. The idea that this world you live in is only a fraction of what’s really out there. It’s scratching at your concept of reality and that’s bothering you to no end. You can’t imagine this universe being much greater than you ever actually thought it to be. And I’ll even go as far as saying I understand your fear and apprehension…” he reached John and stood a mere breath away from him; “But really John. You’re a soldier. You’re a brave man. And you are so much better than this. I know you are.” With that ever present twinkle in his eyes and that pull at the end of his lips that was dying to open into a smile he finished with; “So? What do you say? Are you ready to take a deeper look? Because I am dying to show you.”

There was a pause in which neither man moved. Their eyes locked as John fought an inner battle between curiosity and logic.

But their contact broke as the Doctor lifted his gaze up to see Clara walk through the kitchen in their direction. John was still mulling and instead drew his eyes to the window until she reached them.

“Did you tell him?” she asked smiling

“Yes,” said the Doctor turning his eyes to John again.

John wasn’t sure how to proceed so he diverted and asked; “Um…how’s Sherlock?”

“Fine. He’s really waking up now. I left him with Mary.”

“Good. Good. I should go check on him. And uh, Mrs Hudson?”

“She went back to her flat. Said to call her if you needed anything?” She then looked between both men and with a smile asked; “So? Are we going?” bouncing on her heels for a second.

John was placed on the spot once again. Frowning and unsure he looked between the Doctor and Clara; “I…I don’t know, I just…”

His barely formed sentence was cut dead as a loud THUMP was heard in the bedroom directly followed by an outburst of loud cries.

Racing towards the bedroom followed by the Doctor and Clara, John stopped at the door to take in the image; “What happened?”

Mary was attempting to adjust Sherlock in her arms as he screamed and thrashed against her almost painfully.

“Did he just fall?” he demanded in a raised voice and immediately taking a sobbing Sherlock from her arms.

Mary was breathing heavily and looked ready to burst into her own tears as she explained; “He started struggling in my arms…and I just…I couldn’t get a tight enough grip on him and he just…he slipped…I’m so sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

John was a passive man. If he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t have survived as long as he had with Sherlock around. But right now…right now he could feel himself becoming absolutely furious!

“Get out!” he just managed as he took himself and Sherlock out of the room and into the living room, biting on his tongue to avoid saying any more.

If anything Sherlock’s cries were gaining strength.

John held him tight as he began to whisper into his ear; “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re ok. You’re ok.”

He ran his hand over Sherlock’s forehead and over his curls making a quick but thorough scan with his eyes and hands that there was no blood or anything he should be concerned about. He was hoping the tears were really just out of shock. 

Holding Sherlock’s little head back down against his shoulder he continued; “It’s alright. It’s alright. I’m sorry buddy. I’m sorry. It’s ok.”

Perhaps it was the adrenaline and urgency of the moment that drove John to place his lips over Sherlock’s little head as he held him down, and draw out one firm kiss after another.

His back was turned to the door as Mary made her way out in tears with one last; “I’m so sorry.”

Facing the window he continued to cradle Sherlock in his arms, against his chest as tears were slowly culminating but little hands remained gripped onto him tight.

“It’s alright,” he whispered one more time into that little ear.

It took a moment for the energy in the flat to change and the dust to settle. The Doctor and Clara remained at a distance as John continued his watch on Sherlock, swaying him softly in his arms.

The tears had ended as Sherlock turned his head right still very much leaning against John. His left cheek pressed against the fabric of John’s shirt and his left eye partially closed.

John in return lowered his head as best he could to see that little face; “You ok?”

It took Sherlock a moment but he slowly lifted his right hand up and moved it slowly from side to side in display.

“Oh buddy. Did you hurt your wrist?” John whispered as he took the little hand in his and gave it a rub with his fingers turning it form one side to the other slowly and softly.

Placing it back on his chest he replaced his hold on Sherlock and left a last kiss over those black curls, before turning to face the other two in the room.

Both looked a little skittish to say the least.

“I’m sorry about that,” John whispered avoiding their eyes.

The Doctor shook his head and Clara voiced his thoughts; “God. No. Not at all.”

“Um…” John rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his left hand before finally; “Ok. I’ll go. _We’ll_ go.”

Both of them smiled quite excited.

“But um….I still need to keep an eye on Sherlock tonight. Especially after…” he took a long breath.

“Yeah. Yeah no, absolutely. We can come back tomorrow can’t we?” asked Clara looking at the Doctor.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Good. Ok. Thanks,” John replied softly as he took another breath and turned to face the window once again.

*****

John knew Sherlock was a slippery one but after this afternoon’s incident, his mother’s words resonated in his mind; situations and feelings are very different between something happening to your children when you’re around and something happening to your children under the care of someone else. And right now, John never wanted to see that nanny again.

*****

John had kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock for the remainder of the day. Looking for any signs of concussion or trauma of any kind. He regularly checked those little eyes and their reaction. When feeding time came around he did it slowly and didn’t insist when Sherlock finally pushed the bottle away and didn’t want any more.

They were almost set and ready for bed when, as he pulled down the blinds in the living room something caught John’s eye.

Frowning, he did a double take.

Yep. It was still there.

Turning to the door, with Sherlock as was custom still in his arms, he headed downstairs and out the door.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah!” said the Doctor enthusiastically from the chair he had unfolded out the front of 221.

“Uh huh…so you plan to…camp out here?” continued John

“Sure!” said Clara from her own chair.

John couldn’t help himself and smiled; “Are you two guarding us?”

Clara and the Doctor shared a look before turning to him proudly; “Well, yes. Yes, we are.”

John’s smile gained energy; “Ok. Well…how about you ‘guard’ from inside? There’s a spare bedroom upstairs.”

“Oh, no. We’re alright out here. Aren’t we Clara?”

“Yep!”

“You can’t really sit out here all night,” added John a little dubiously.

“We’ve slept through worse.”

“Much worse,” added Clara

“Oi!” begged the Doctor who was offered a quick smile from Clara

John smiled but decided not to push it so instead he nodded; “Ok. Well, we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight!” said the Doctor

“See you tomorrow!” added Clara

With one last look John turned around and returned back upstairs with a playful smile on his face and for some reason, a strangely comforting feeling in his chest and no it wasn’t the weight of Sherlock on him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this next chapter is another short one but I wanted it to stand alone and end where it does. The next is almost finished and I should be posting up by tomorrow if not later today *fingers crossed* :)
> 
> Thank you as always and love you all!! xx

If a greater part of raising children was consistency, then John was working hard to keep to his routine…however difficult it might be.

For the past two nights he’d noticed that once Sherlock was out for the night, he wouldn’t wake until 6:30-7ish the next morning. 

He’d also noticed however that it took Sherlock several paces around the dark room and one steady hand on his chest once on the bed to get him down. He still hadn’t been able to deposit Sherlock back into the cot after that, mostly because he himself would drift off to sleep at around the same time.

So with that in mind he stuck to his guns and continued with his apparently established routine.

He read his predetermined 4 pages of a book. With the lights out he paced the room once, twice and then a few times more. And then lay down on the bed with Sherlock to his left whilst his right hand held him down steady and firm. Once there, he continued with his whispered lullabies.

And for the first time in 3 nights, Sherlock had not cried, had not screamed, had not squirmed, grunted or growled at him. He’d been awake. Oh he definitely had. Those little eyes remained vigilant as always. But everything else he kept to himself tonight.

Against his better judgement, John claimed this as a personal success! He knew the likelier explanation for this however was the sedative and subsequent events of the day. There’s only so much a little body can handle in one day.

Regardless of the reason…Sherlock was finally asleep for a third night in a row…and so was John.

*****

**Day 4**

“Good morning,” John frowned as he took slow steps out into the kitchen.

“Morning!” announced the Doctor as Clara laid out some eggs and toast on the table which was set for three…plus the additional high chair.

“Morning! Breakfast?” smiled Clara

“Um,” said John still a little groggy himself. “Thank you.” He softly cleared his throat; “thanks.”

“The little one up yet?” asked the Doctor. “What does he have? Cereal? Porridge? Milk?...Juice?”

_Little one_ …John registered that much.

“Um…just um…cereal. But, I’ll make that for him, don’t worry,” said John his eyes still adjusting a little. “Excuse me,” he said as he walked back into the bedroom frowning and a little resigned to his fortune really.

Sherlock had woken up at around the same time as John and had been tossing and turning since. In fact as John entered the room again he found him with his little forehead pressed heavily against the mattress and both hands to either side of his head. He was initially curled up in on himself until he began lifting his bottom into the air supporting himself first by his knees, then by the tips of his toes making a somewhat upside down ‘V’, then back down again onto his knees.

John giggled at the sight; “What are you doing?”

With a plop Sherlock fell flat back on his tummy with his face still digging into the pillow releasing a soft growl.

Heading towards Sherlock’s dresser to retrieve all the things he needed for him, John continued; “Remind me to tell Mrs Hudson to change the locks on the front door. Not that I think it’ll make a difference.” And then suddenly remembering he raised his head; “Oh shit! Remind me to call Sarah!” Grimly, he continued picking through the clothes.

All the while he could hear soft grunts behind him as if a _little one_ was struggling with something. Turning around he found Sherlock now on his back grabbing both his feet with his hands almost turning himself into a little ball. A deeply buried frown printed on his face as it grew hot and red from the strength he was evidently exerting and his breathing was picking up pace.

It took John no more than half a heartbeat to realize something was actually wrong. 

Sherlock tended to be restless by nature but...this wasn’t a child-like restlessness. This wasn’t that attention-seeking, demanding behaviour Sherlock was so good at. This was...genuine, adult...frustration. This was...impotence and helplessness that was vibrating off of him.

And as he watched this unfold it dawned on John that in the past 4 days he hadn’t really considered how all this was affecting Sherlock. _Really_ affecting Sherlock. Sure enough he had gone through _his own_ thought process and mostly come to accept the situation for what it was and ride with it...but what about Sherlock? What about that independent individual who did as he pleased and when he pleased? That man could well be trapped in there. Regardless of what Leonard and those specialists had to say, John knew some part of Sherlock remained. And that part had clearly reached its limits and was desperate to get out.

If anyone could recognize the signs of an oncoming panic attack it was John, who had unfortunately been on the end of them one too many times. So immediately closing the blinds in the room again, he made his way to Sherlock’s side of the bed and knelt down on the floor beside him resting both arms on the mattress; one above and one below Sherlock but without actually touching him.

He gave Sherlock a moment.

“Sherlock,” he finally whispered carefully.

Sherlock continued to desperately pull at his little legs.

“Sherlock,” John insisted minding his tone and volume

It took a moment but eventually Sherlock released his little legs letting them fall flat against the bed. But as soon as he had he brought his hands up to his face and made an attempt to slap himself which he succeeded in only once because John soon had hold of both his hands and was keeping them firmly together in one of his.

“Sherlock.” Still whispered. Still patient. “Sherlock.”

Trying to set the example he took deep, even breaths and continued; “Sherlock. I know you can understand me.”

Pause.

“Sherlock.”

Pause.

“Breathe for me. Please.”

He quickly felt himself become unstable and weak, as he watched Sherlock’s lower lip begin to tremble and his little chin scrunch up. It wasn’t long before silent, heavy tears were rolling down on either side of Sherlock’s little face as his eyelids slowly closed.

God, what had this done to Sherlock? What was it still doing to him? Physically he was fine according to his test results but psychologically…

Keeping his hold on Sherlock’s hands, his free hand came to rest over Sherlock’s little head as he lowered his own to lean against it, his mouth coming to rest just below Sherlock’s ear.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock. I’m really sorry,” so softly only the two of them could hear. “Just take deep breaths for me please. Please. Please. Please…” his words slowly dying out into the air.

Releasing those little hands, he gently placed his open palm just over Sherlock’s tummy with absolutely no amount of pressure. It was just the touch. It was just reassurance for them both.

Sherlock trembled under his hands as his cries gained the smallest amount of sound.

“I am so sorry,” he hadn’t realized his own reaction until he felt his words choke in his throat. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere Sherlock. I promise. I promise. We’ll figure this out. I promise.” 

His voice still as levelled as he humanly could. 

“Just breathe for me please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For that lovely person who suggested a quiet moment between Sherlock and John, do not fear, it is coming!hehe I just need to fit it into the right place that's all ;) Thank you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I don't know where the idea came from but this chapter will probably set off a few things or rather some explanations about certain things not just about Sherlock's current state but previous things in his life...I'll see how it works out and hopefully fit into the story.
> 
> Thank you as always!!xxx

John was suddenly much more alert to Sherlock’s every mood and look and change in behaviour. He needed to be. He didn’t want to and couldn’t miss anything. Moreover he was glad he’d decided to follow the Doctor and Clara to the ends of the earth if he had to.

“So how do we do this? Are we going back to that penthouse Sherlock took me to?” John asked as he stepped out of 221 locking the door behind him.

The Doctor couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out of him; “Oh. No John.”

“This way!” announced Clara

John had taken his time with Sherlock this morning. The bath and breakfast had been given at a pace and for the most part in silence. So now, an hour and bit later, Sherlock was seemingly calmer and slowly drifting back into his old self. 

Unfortunately for a day or so now John had wanted to ease Sherlock into using the pram. But for a day or so now it had been a fruitless battle. And though the idea irked him to no end, especially after this morning, John saw himself forced to strap Sherlock into it. He didn’t know where they were going or how long it would be and frankly his arms were starting to shake from carrying him here and there. So with Sherlock on four wheels battling quietly with his little hands against the buckles, they headed down the footpath. 

They made a turn at the end of the street and then another quick turn into a small alleyway that John had always walked past as he headed to work.

There, against one side, was a simple looking, straight forward, blue police box. Strange location admittedly but just your average police phone box.

“What’s this?” he asked as they all came to a stop

“This!” announced the Doctor. “Is the TARDIS!”

“Sorry the what?”

“TARDIS. Time and relative dimension in space!” announced Clara looking to the Doctor for approval.

He in return gave her a proud smile and a wink; “Excuse the alleyway. It draws too much attention in the middle of a main street. And that has brought me some trouble before,” explained the Doctor. Opening the door to the TARDIS, he said; “In you go!”

John remained put; “It’s a police box.”

“It’s really not,” said Clara

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked John feeling almost like he was being played around with which he didn’t like at all.

“No. No, not all!” clarified the Doctor

“No. Really, no,” confirmed Clara

There was a pause in which everyone wasn’t sure what the other would do.

Looking around John took a deep breath and braced himself for the practical joke he was certain he was walking straight into.

Pushing the pram ahead of him, he walked through those blue doors…and came to a stop. His hands suddenly cold gripped tight onto the pram.

How…? No…

This wasn’t right.

It couldn’t be…

Perhaps unwillingly he took a step back but found the Doctor and Clara standing directly behind him.

“What is this?” he whispered as he scanned the inside

Clara stepped up; “ _This_ is the TARDIS! Our mode of transport if you wish,” her eyes sparkling as she winked at him.

John shook his head slightly…; “How?”

“Long story! Point is _we_ must head off!” said the Doctor swerving around John and Clara and running straight to the centre.

Shaking his head slowly John found he really didn’t have much to say. No. Correction. He had _a lot_ to say…just…no words to do it.

Except for…

“It’s smaller on the outside,” he whispered staggered.

“That’s what I said,” whispered Clara

“Why does that keep happening? I’m not sure I like it…” said the Doctor as he stopped for half a second to ponder but immediately continued on with his task. “You might want to hold onto something!”

*****

“Where are we?”

“This,” announced the Doctor as they stepped out the TARDIS; “Is the planet Shan Shen!”

John looked around and found himself…mildly unimpressed.

“This is a market,” he stated looking back at the Doctor. “An Asian market to be precise.”

“You’re really not looking at this with the right eyes,” said the Doctor flatly. “Or in the right direction for that matter,” he added with a knowing smile as he looked up.

John followed his gaze.

God was he was right. So….very right.

This place was far from ordinary.

“Are they…?” John stopped.

His eyes followed several crafts zipping past them high above. The kind he was used to seeing in movies and reading about in books. The kind people back on earth talked about but knew would probably never happen. Not in his lifetime at least...or so he’d thought.

And that was only the beginning as he settled his eyes on…the planets. Large and small, spread out across the sky.

“Are they…?” he pointed

And buildings that seemed to stretch towards the sky and never end.

John made a sound…but it seemed that’s all he could formulate by this stage.

With a proud smile, the Doctor raised an eyebrow and placed a hand over John’s shoulder; “We’ll have plenty of time for this. We need to get going!” he said enthusiastically. “This way!”

Leading the way through the crowds, the Doctor was followed by John and Clara with Sherlock still strapped and unwilling to give up his battle against the evil forces of…the seat buckle!

The walk took about 10 minutes in which John was too preoccupied catching every minor detail he could about those walking up and down past him. They were all seemingly normal. Human-like if you wish. Two arms, two legs and one head. Nothing out of the ordinary. That was until you looked closer…which John found himself apologizing for several times. You can only stare at someone for so long before they call you out on it.

“Here we are!” announced the Doctor as they stopped outside a deep red, one story, stone building. Not one to wait the Doctor bolted through the front brown wooden door followed closely by Clara.

John on the other hand…he took a moment. There was a sudden tightening in his chest that held him in his spot. But he took a deep breath considering himself silly for it, and picking up the pace he walked in.

The ‘house’ as John had come to realize, was very, _very_ long. From the door John found the corridor seemed never ending but with what looked like natural light coming from the other end. To the sides all the doors that led off from the middle were closed…a strange number of doors too if John were to considered it.

“John!” prompted the Doctor as his head popped out from the seventh door to his right. “Come along!”

Still feeling slightly uncomfortable, he proceeded.

The room was quite large but also astonishingly darker in contrast to the rest of the house, lit up mostly by candles and divided into two by a red veil.

“Madame Adler,” asked the Doctor with a certain reverence to his voice.

A figure began making its way out from behind the veil. She was tall, pale and slim, with her black hair tied in a very neat bun and had what appeared to be black, tribal designs on either side of her face. She wore a long, black, strapless dress of a thick looking fabric adorned with a great number of silver pieces.

John’s much _lower_ instincts were demanding a reaction from him. The woman was after all absolutely stunning…but John had more self-control than that, even if Sherlock always accused him of having none.

“You must be Doctor John Hamish Watson,” she said in a deep voice as she made her way him.

“Yes,” he answered a little shaky.

“I am Madame Adler.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“I hear you need my help,” she added.

“Um,” he cleared his throat. “Sort of. Yes.”

She held his gaze as her hand moved in what felt to John like slow motion until she had a hold of the pram’s handle. With eyes still locked, John let go of the pram as she began to turn it slowly in her direction.

Finally lowering her gaze, she came face to face with the child inside. Smiling with an edge of wickedness and lowering down to be at eye level with him; “Sherlock Holmes. We meet again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a different note I honestly feel like I'm taking my time getting places within the story and might be boring all you readers. And that's the last thing I want to do! If you feel like I'm walking through this story way too slowly please let me know! Honestly! I can speed it up. There are probably a lot of things that could be edited out and I'm happy to do for your enjoyment! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! How are you all? I'm sorry for the slight delay. It would have been up last night but I realized I'd left half the chapter on my work computer last night so I had to drive in today just to get it HAHAHA I though it was funny!
> 
> This chapter goes into the field of magic and I guess I wanted to make this my sort of warning in case anyone is uncomfortable with those themes. It's very mild but just in case...
> 
> Other than that...enjoy as always! Love you all xx

“You know him?” asked John surprised

“Intimately,” she replied maintaining eye contact with Sherlock whose actions had stopped at the sight of her. After a pause however she broke said contact raising her eyes up to John with a knowing smile; “Though not the way you’re thinking.”

She gracefully rose back up but continued her watch on Sherlock who kept his eyes locked on hers.

“The Doctor has explained the situation. And though I’m happy to try, I fear I may not be as much help as you might hope. My… _powers_ work in very different ways.”

“How do you mean?” asked John beginning to feel a little deflated

“This was not brought on by magic but rather scientific ‘research’ as I have been informed. And as such reversing the effects is not as easy as casting a spell to bring him back. The particulars of this drug and how it actually worked are unknown to me and therefore I’m having to go by instinct.”

“You’re a witch?” blurted John a little shocked and suddenly a little nervous

Madam Adler raised an eyebrow and offered him a broad and mischievous smile; “Scared?”

“No,” John refused slightly shaken. “No. Just…I mean…knowing Sherlock the way I do…I…”

“Don’t understand?”

“No.”

“I said I knew him intimately Doctor Watson. I never said he agreed let alone believed in what I did. But perhaps this is my chance to change that,” she said locking eyes with Sherlock again.

*****

John had been permitted some privacy behind the veil to strip Sherlock of the little navy blue and red striped tee and leggings he had dressed him in that morning. He then loosely wrapped him in a white sheet that Madame Adler had offered him and placed him on the floor in the middle of a small circle of candles that had been laid out. 

Either Sherlock understood or was at least curious about what was to happen because instead of bolting or raising an issue, he simply watched Madame Adler intently. Followed her every move in fact.

John had then been asked to return to the other side of the veil from where he along with the Doctor and Clara could observe but not interfere. By this point John was hoping for the best but expecting the worst. She’d warned them herself really. But keeping his fears to himself, he watched on.

Through the veil he watched as Madame Adler slowly lower herself until she was sitting on her heels, her long dress spread out around her. Her hands came to rest loosely over her thighs as she sat with a straight back and eyes directly on Sherlock. 

And for a moment…nothing happened. Just silence.

Until finally, she slowly lowered her head and closed her eyes. Her hands turning to fists. And softly. Just under her breath. A chant. A whisper. Slow and gentle. A lullaby. Words completely unknown to John as he stood there entranced with arms crossed.

This went on for a few moments until her hands slowly opened up again to reveal what looked to John like ash.

And soon it all stopped again. Silence once more.

Until her eyes slowly opened again and raising her head she extended both hands over the circle of candles in Sherlock’s direction. He seemed to understand and moved forward just an inch, the sheet slipping off of his shoulders and coming to lie just over his hips.

As both his little hands dug into hers a little uncoordinated, the ash began to turn into a white thin dust that escaped through the cracks in their joint hands and drifted up into the air forming swirls around Sherlock. 

They must have caught him by surprise as he immediately sat up straighter but turned his little head in all directions trying to follow their path around him. Curious as always, he raised his hands up to touch them but his fingers went right through them which evidently annoyed him as he continued with a little more energy trying to close his hands around them but with the same results. Realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere his arms dropped with the smallest of pouts on his lower lip.

John would have smiled at that reaction had he not been completely absorbed in the moment.

And he would have stayed motionless if it hadn’t been for a sudden; 

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Along with the Doctor and Clara, John jumped in his spot. He would have turned in search of the source but his attention was immediately drawn again by Madame Adler. 

She seemed to be…responding as she placed both palms against the wooden floor and made a similar sound against it 4 times.

And then again the walls vibrated to the sound of:

BANG. BANG BANG. BANG.

Madame Adler responded yet again. Palms against the floor. 4 times.

And yet again:

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Then silence. No response from Madame Adler. Nothing. Just silence…

The swirls that rounded Sherlock began to split into each individual grain…and they glowed. Silver. Silver grains. Thousands and thousands of them, surrounding him, _cascading_ around him, and bringing with them a soft, cool breeze that even John thought he’d felt as the hairs on his arms rose.

It only took a few moments before they just…dropped. All fell to the ground blanketing the wood around Sherlock and blowing out the candles in their path.

Everyone remained motionless. 

Not even a breath. 

Just expectation. Hope. Curiosity. Fear even.

Until:

ACHOO!!

The sneeze that escaped Sherlock was so strong and sudden it shook him and confused him…and rather funnily it also made his nose run a little.

The awkwardness that followed was full of silent questions…no one knew if that was it? Had it worked? Had it not? Was there more to this? There had to be more to this…right?

“I’m sorry,” whispered Madame Adler.

Completely deflated John closed his eyes, took a very deep breath and then let it go.

God, why?

Oddly though, opening his eyes thinking of all that could have been, he was surprised to find himself…smiling. Humoured at the sight of Sherlock, wiping away with the back of his little hand, the clear drop that ran down his nose and onto his upper lip.

It was worth the try…

*****

“So how is it that you know Sherlock?” asked John.

Despite the mildly downcast energy in the room they had gotten comfortable around a small, polished rosewood table on the side of the veil nearest to the door, for some tea that Madame Adler had set out for them.

Having made Sherlock decent again in a new nappy and his little navy blue and dark red stripped outfit, John had attempted to hold him on his lap with one arm as he drank his tea with the other. Sherlock however had other plans and began to wriggle and twist almost desperately, trying to set himself free. 

“Jesus! Fine!” whispered John exasperated as he gave up the fight and instead plonked Sherlock down on the floor by his feet.

No sooner had he hit the floor than he twisted onto all fours and off he went to investigate his surroundings or so John assumed by the directions he was heading in. All eyes were on him for a moment as they watched his every move intently. Had John seen Sherlock’s eyes he would have noticed the disdained look he had as he ignored the stares and continued on with his ‘business’.

“How much do you know about Sherlock?” deferred Madame Adler.

Watching Sherlock with what could be described as a melancholic gaze; “Clearly not enough,” he said truthfully, wishing that statement had not hurt half as much as it did.

Madam Adler didn’t miss it; “There are things I still don’t know about him. John.”

It was the emphasis on his name that brought John’s eyes back up to Madame Adler and they remained that way until; “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“How does anyone come to know Sherlock?”

“Again,” he simply said

The corner of her lips gave way as she turned her eyes to the Doctor who stopped with cup of tea mid-air.

“Yeah well...Sherlock’s always been funny that way,” he said putting the cup back down.

John could feel himself become a little irritated at this back and forth; “What is going on? Is there something I should know?” he asked looking between the Doctor and Madame Adler, sounding concerned at this point.

A silence followed in which the Doctor and Madame Adler looked at each other in what looked like a standoff.

*****

Meanwhile Sherlock had eventually made his way to the veil that parted the room. He got right up close to it, almost dipping his little face into it and began…staring at it…or through it rather. At what? Who knew. But he remained that way for a moment. His eyes narrowing and fixated as his lips parted just a little. 

Breaking his own stillness he sat his little bum down and used both his hands to pull the veil up from where it met with the floor and over himself to get to the other side of it…well at least he tried. Several times too. But the veil was too heavy and his arms too weak and small so every one of those times he ended up with the veil falling short and running down his face and back to the ground.

Quickly becoming frustrated with that he sat up straight and if the look on his face was anything to go by, he seemed to be considering his options. And he must have reached a conclusion as he headed for the wall to his right hand side instead. Once there it wasn’t overly hard for him to sneak _around_ the veil instead and reach the other side. His older self would have chastised himself for not having worked that out sooner.

Slowly making his way past some furniture in what seemed like an even darker part of the room, he headed straight for a narrow looking door towards the corner. Stopping in front he sat back up and considered it for a moment until the black wood gave way and opened. It wasn’t much. Barely a slit. Just enough for a pair of long arms to reach out, pick Sherlock up off the ground, and take him in with them closing the door again.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!Hope you're all well.So...I've having a bit of trouble explaining how I ended going down the road I have. All I can say is I sat down to write and this is what happened...Hope it's ok and you enjoy xx

“A long time ago I went in search of something through a time rift. Time rifts are small weaknesses or tears in time and space through which things can escape or in this case…be hidden. They’re very rare and just as hard to find. They happen naturally, but unfortunately with the right technology some can be created as was in this case.”

The Doctor took a deep breath before continuing.

“Anyway I found what I was looking for but in addition I also… _ran_ , quite literally, into this six year old boy,” began the Doctor. “A genius of a child, who had run away from home. Barely making it out with his life as it turned out.”

The room had become almost too silent. The expectation thick.

“He was the son of William and Elizabetta Moriarty and brother of Jim Moriarty. Only…he wasn’t.”

John frowned a little baffled as to where this story was heading.

“There are no coincidences John. So there had to be a reason why this boy came straight to me. And he wasn’t an easy one to break either. In fact till this day I don’t think I really did. But I had enough information to put the story together.”

He paused again.

“He was the youngest of the two boys by 6 years and was evidently the favourite of the two. There was just something…extraordinary about him. He was…different and spectacular in all the right ways. His mind miles ahead of everybody else’s so it really was no surprise.”

John was intrigued as the Doctor continued.

“The eldest however, Jim, grew up surrounded by this admiration and devotion to his younger brother, leaving him with the crumbs of affection that his parents could afford to spare. And so he began this almost…desperate attempt to please his parents. He was also a genius of a child, let’s be clear on that, just…not…anywhere near his brother. No matter how hard he tried.

And so after years of trying fruitlessly…he stopped. He simply stopped…trying to do the right thing and instead…allowed his mind to corrode and…decompose into something unrecognisable. Something truly malignant.”

The Doctor looked haunted as his eyes grew deep and serious.

“One night, after all this hatred and loathing had simmered quietly within him for years…it all reached a horrendous climax.”

John looked on, deeper and deeper into those words.

“His parents were his first victims.”

John felt the horror of those words sink into him with a cold wave.

“His brother would have been his third had the young boy not been clever enough to anticipate what was happening and made a run for it just in time. And that’s how I came to meet him. Running for his life.” He paused as his tone lightened up a little. “So I brought him with me completely unaware of whom he really was. As it happens I discovered that little fact only a day later.”

As stunned as John was by the story, he really wasn’t sure why it was being told to him? Who was this boy and what did all this have to do with how these people came to know Sherlock…

Speaking of…

He pulled his eyes away from the Doctor and turned them towards the last place he’d seen him. He wasn’t there. He turned his head to a few more places. No sign.

“Where’s Sherlock?” he asked in an even tone but a small frown

“He was just…there…” pointed Clara towards a wooden stand near the front door. “Last I saw him.”

“Sherlock,” John raised his voice just a little as he stood from his chair and made a quick scan with his eyes. “Sherlock!” he checked under the table they were seating at. Nothing.

Everyone else followed on, standing up, all looking confused at the disappearance.

“Sherlock!” John’s voice became a little louder and hinting of panic.

“He’s not here,” stated Clara

“He couldn’t have gone anywhere,” said The Doctor

“The only way out of here is through the door you came in and it’s been closed the whole time,” confirmed Madame Adler

John began his search joined by everyone else in a chorus of; “Sherlock!”

They lifted things. They moved things. They looked around, under and behind furniture. Opened cupboards and even flipped rugs in desperation.

John almost tore the veil having hit frantic panic; “Sherlock! SHERLOCK!” Bringing his hands up to his face and over his mouth he whispered almost hysterically; “Oh my God! Sherlock! Sherlock! Where are you?!” his breathing speeding to the quick pace of his heart and raising his voice yet again. “Sherlock!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” rationalised the Doctor. “There is nowhere he could have gone.”

In his irrational state John raced to the front and opening the door he ran out into the long corridor and looked in all directions; “Sherlock!” Racing to the front of the house and outside followed by Madame Adler, he looked left and right; “SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK!”

He was beside himself, shaking with every breath.

“Sherlock!”

*****

“This doesn’t make any sense,” reiterated the Doctor as he paced the room looking bewildered.

Clara on the other hand had suddenly gone very still. Her head tilting a little to the right as her eyes settled on one corner of the room. The far end corner of the room to be exact.

“Doctor,” she whispered, her gaze remaining motionless.

The Doctor continued to pace and speaking to himself it appeared.

“Doctor,” insisted Clara a little louder.

“I mean unless there was…”

“Doctor!”

He finally stopped and looked up; “What?”

Clara pointed to the corner of the room; “I…”

The Doctor followed her gaze and looked at the same corner; “What?”

“I just…I think…” Clara doubted her own words. “I think I…saw a shadow of like…a door or something.”

“Where?”

“That corner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really, no.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow but smiled with barely disguised excitement pulling out his screwdriver. Giving it a couple of knocks against his hand, he aimed it at the seemingly empty corner. The screwdriver opened and lit up immediately as it began to search.

“Where is he?!” John walked back in followed by Madame Adler who was trying to keep him grounded. “Where is he?!” he demanded. He needed Sherlock back. Now!

“Everybody stop!” the Doctor asked raising his voice as he lowered the screwdriver. “Clara. Did you see that?”

“I did,” she confirmed much more confident.

“Saw what?!” demanded John

“There’s an echo,” the Doctor whispered as his fingers moved through the air and he turned in his spot looking around at the walls and ceiling of the room. “There’s an echo of this room.”

“A what?” demanded John

“An echo. An exact replica of this room running parallel in time to us.”

“Where. Is. Sherlock?!” demanded John again.

“He’s stuck within that echo. He’s still here just not…here.”

John got up close to the Doctor, enough that they could feel each other’s breaths, and threatened; “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t care. Get. Him. Back!” ordered John

The Doctor stared back at him knowing and understanding John’s reaction; “Do you know anything about this Madame Adler?” he asked keeping his eyes on John.

John turned his threatening glare to her; “Was this you?” he demanded. “Did you do this?!”

“I haven’t done anything!” she defended herself. “I am just as confused as you are!”

John returned his eyes to the Doctor and almost growled; “Since you’re so clever and you brought us here. Bring. Him. Back!”

The Doctor turned in his spot and aimed the screwdriver at the corner again; “I need to isolate his position or at least find the entrance he was taken through.” He continued to aim and struggle until the shadow of a black door appeared. But soon faded again.

John was feeling quite sick by this point.

The Doctor continued. Struggled. But continued. And soon, there it was again. The black door. This time remaining longer and longer until it was a clearly defined black narrow door.

“Everybody go! Go! GO!” demanded the Doctor.

Clara and John immediately ran through. 

Madame Adler held back

“What are you doing? Go!” demanded the Doctor holding tight onto the screwdriver

Madame Adler shook her head; “No. You go. I have something I need to do. Go!” she demanded back.

The Doctor looked confused and less than convinced but he didn’t have time for this and instead ran through the door leaving her behind.

*****

“Where are we?” asked John looking around

“Oh,” whispered the Doctor coming to abrupt stop just as he had crossed. “Oh. Wow. This...that’s. For an echo…that’s…pretty elaborate,” admitted the Doctor looking around.

“I thought you said it was only meant to be a copy of the room,” demanded John

“It is, _was_ , but…we’re dealing with someone…a little too smart…just a little too smart…” whispered the Doctor as he did a few turns in his spot same as Clara and most importantly John.

They were at the starting point of what looked like a great labyrinth. Walls sky high of wood and twisted vines with three options of entry and half hidden by a thick fog. 

“Alright then!” the Doctor raised his voice into the air. “We’re here! What do you want?”

There was an eerie silence. But it was soon broken by a spine-tingling, and sinister sounding voice that resonated around them, piercing right through John’s nerves. 

“No rush...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echo's seem to be the weapon of choice on Doctor Who lately so I thought I'd add my own with a little twist. I really wasn't going to get Moriarty involved but one thing led to another and...I'm not really sure. I don't think I'll be expanding much on it though and will probably give it a quick resolution (another chapter tops). It's almost finished too :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm here again :) Not much to say about this chapter just that I hope I did it justice and you enjoy :) Thank you as always!! xxx

“1 and 2 and 3. Which one will you pick?” chanted the almost child-like voice sending shivers through John.

“Who are you?! Where’s Sherlock?” he demanded managing to even out his voice despite himself.

“We’re going to play a little game!” resonated the voice. “It’s called find him...before I’m finished with him,” teased the male voice.

“All these years and this is what it took to get you to come out?” asked the Doctor. His tone measured yet slightly threatening. Speaking as if he knew who this voice belonged to and why this was happening. “You patiently waited until you could take him on when he simply couldn’t defend himself...”

“I worked hard enough for years Doctor!” the voice spat out in despise. “It’s my turn now and...I think I rather enjoy watching him...vulnerable and weak! He’s perfect like this! Just the way I want him!”

“Don’t you dare!” John had had enough.

There was a laughter like thunder that shook them all and ended with a; “Aren’t ordinary people adorable! I suggest you hurry up little soldier. Time is running out for your precious! Come to think of it, I think I’ll give you a hand...”

The ghostly and hollow feeling that surrounded them deepened as they had a moment of uncertainty over what was to happen. 

It was in a heartbeat that John heard the Doctor’s voice; “RUN!”

For a split second John wasn’t sure _what_ he was running from or _where_ he was running to but he soon discovered he was being chased by a pair of wild, almost hound-like vicious dogs, with red eyes and obviously desperate to shred something apart.

His heart pounded loud in his ears as he barely caught in the distance a mix between Clara’s desperate screams as she ran and directions being shouted out by the Doctor who led them through the maze they were in. “Stay together!” he shouted desperately in between left’s and right’s.

And it was in the middle of this mad race that the first part of a wall collapsed right in front of them causing them to come to a grinding halt. Though their pause didn’t last so much as a second as they continued to run.

They had gone a mere few meters before another large section collapsed.

But they continued on. Desperately. For their lives. Risking every now and then a peek at their backs watching in horror as the animals seemed to be getting closer and closer.

The sections of wood and vines collapsing faster and closer together. Ahead of them, behind them and to their sides.

“MORIARTY!” shouted the Doctor

The maze, an endless puzzle that was quickly darkening and seemed to be closing in on them.

“MORIARTY! STOP THIS!” demanded the Doctor.

“Ugh!” was heard through the air. “You’re all so TEDIOUS!” he shouted violently and ended with an even more aggressive; “STOP!”

John, Clara and the Doctor stopped dead as the walls that surrounded them collapsed into nothing. All three suddenly finding themselves standing in the middle of a large, darkened hall. The walls cracked, tainted and peeling. Paper-thin, washed-out curtains swayed lifelessly with a chilling breeze that circulated through the large space.

The hall was _mostly_ empty except for a _throne_ looking structure at the very end, half hidden in shadows and from which only the outline of a man in a suit could be made out.

Next to this, a cot that looked more like a cage made of steel bars.

“Sherlock,” John whispered between heavy breaths, his chest heaving as his eyes immediately found him.

He was sitting directly on the solid, cold base of the cot, holding tight to the bars, enough that his little knuckles were white. His eyes desperate and almost teary, but he wouldn’t allow himself that. At the sight of John however, an almost painful wail escaped his lips.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” demanded John turning his attention to the man in a suit.

“Are you ready for the story?” asked the man teasingly

“Don’t.” warned the Doctor immediately.

“WHY?” demanded Moriarty reverberating in the room.

They held each other in silence.

“Why?” repeated Moriarty softly. A pause followed until the man turned his attention to John; “You see Doctor Watson. The one to blame for your death today…is Sherlock. Had he never existed none of us would be here today. If I had rid this world of him back when I had the chance. But I’m going to right some wrongs today.”

John’s hands were twisting into fists and trembling in anger.

“Moriarty. Don’t do this,” whispered the Doctor. “You know he’s not to blame for what happened. Just let him go. I won’t hand you over. But… you need to let him go.”

Catching them by surprise a section of a wall near the far end corner of the hall came crashing down.

Ignoring the noise of shattering concrete, Moriarty continued; “Do you really think I care what you do? What you say? The Silence or The Proclamation or anything else is powerless before me. How little you know me Doctor!” Moriarty spat out. 

Yet another, now much larger part of a wall collapsed a little closer to them, shattering into a thousand pieces as it hit the ground and allowing a large ray of light to seep through. Looking almost unnatural in what had previously been such a dark space.

And it was then. Only then. That the Doctor finally _saw_ ; “I wondered why.” He whispered. “Wondered why if you had all this power and all this might you didn’t come after him sooner?” 

He paused. 

“You’re dying.”

Moriarty tilted his head very slowly to left with a vicious, animal-like glare.

“Aren’t you a clever boy?” he slurred bitterly

He slowly and deliberately stood from his seat and made his way straight into the path of the light were he came to a stop.

He was pale. Gaunt. Deathly even. His steps weak and his breathing shallow.

The appearance genuinely caught John by surprise.

“My entire life! My entire life destroyed by one…human. Nothing more than HUMAN! And you think I’m going to let him live? When I’ve been waiting patiently for this moment? I will savour it Doctor. I will watch him die. In fear. I will watch him suffer every. Second. Of what I have. I will watch him want to beg for mercy! And then…and then I’ll finish with you!”

John wasn’t listening.

He was thinking.

Thinking about his next move.

In retrospect he suspected he should have thought it through a little better considering he really didn’t know who he was up against or what he would retaliate with, but the anger and adrenaline of the moment was enough at the time. John made a split second decision and in the blink of an eye he removed the gun he constantly kept holstered around the back of his waist. In that same breath he removed the safety and aimed. Directly at Moriarty. Directly at his head.

The man burst out in laughter. One that ricocheted like thunder through these empty walls.

The Doctor looked at John confused “Where did…John,” he continued with his initial point. “Don’t,” he whispered softly, watching the steady hold of John’s hands on the gun.

“Really doctor Watson? Is this how you plan to end this?” mocked Moriarty

John’s voice became a growl. A low, threatening roar that came within the deepest parts of him; “I’ve killed men for far less than this. Things I hardly cared for. How far do you think I’ll go when you’re standing between me and someone I love?”

“Sherlock dear, did you hear that?” he teased Sherlock as he turned his eyes to the cot. “Looks like daddy is a bit protective of you.”

“You have no idea,” growled John.

“John,” whispered the Doctor. “Let me.”

“I think you’ve done enough,” whispered John keeping his eyes on the target. His hands steady and ready.

Suddenly half the wall behind them along with part of the ceiling came down with such a force that the ground shook beneath them. John lost his balance for a second as did everybody else except for Moriarty.

“This world is collapsing!” shouted the Doctor. “You’re dying and the world you created is collapsing!”

“Then we’re all going to die! Aren’t we? Doctor!” shouted Moriarty

“Jim!” called the Doctor. Everyone and everything stopped. There was such care and even hope in that name. “Jim,” he whispered. “Let me help you? Let me get you out of here!” he begged.

Another part of the ceiling collapsed now much, _much_ closer to where Sherlock was. John didn’t think and lowering his gun he immediately made a run for him between the cloud of dust and debris. He wasn’t sure where they came from but he suddenly heard and _felt_ the sharp whistle of bullets flying past him. To his right. To his left. And then another to his right which felt an awful lot like a bite to his right arm.

Ignoring the sharp sting he reached for Sherlock who was clinging to the bars desperately trying to stand.

“Come here! Come on,” whispered John as he reached into the cot and picked Sherlock up holding him tight against his chest. Sherlock instantly wrapped his arms around John’s neck and dug his face into John’s collarbone. It probably wasn’t the time but John’s instincts were vibrating and his relief was palpable; “Hey. Hey,” he whispered into Sherlock’s curls. “Oh god,” he whispered thankful as he held tight around his little head and body.

There was a commotion around them. A loud chaos and confusion. A fire had broken out somewhere filling the air with a bitter and heavy tang. The ceiling was caving completely in on them and the floor shook as it gave way beneath them. Cracking and opening.

“Everybody out! OUT! OUT!” shouted an unknown voice from behind John.

Turning around he narrowed his eyes through the dust and smoke to find…Mycroft shouting from the other side of the room.

John offered him a look of confusion mixed with a strange growing anger. But they would have time for that later…if they made it out.

“Hurry up!” shouted Mycroft. He was standing next to a black door very similar, if not the same, to the one they had entered through. John took a second to take in his surroundings.

He didn’t know where the Doctor or Clara were and even though he feared for them he had to get Sherlock out. Making a quick map in his head of the path before him. The things he needed to swerve and avoid. The flames that licked in his path. 

He held tight onto Sherlock, covering that little head as best he could. And he made a run for it. Just ran. Didn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Just ran.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I really don't know how to even begin to excuse myself for the delay on this chapter. I could tell you all about it but you don't want to know hehe. But I will apologize again. This chapter should have been up by Saturday latest and I really am sorry I simply couldn't get around to it. Sorry. I hope I've made up for it with the chapter itself and I really do hope you all enjoy as always. Thank you all!! :) xxxx

The intense heat chased him and debris scratched at the naked parts of his skin as he crossed the threshold.

The door slamming shut behind him with such a force that it seemed to propel him further forward.

His feet came to a stop in the middle of the room as his legs gave way, collapsing to the ground onto his knees.

His heart pounded painfully against his chest. His breathing quick and a little erratic as his stinging eyes slid closed and his limbs shook uncontrollably.

Releasing his lungs of the dirt and smoke he coughed a few times folding in on himself. Sherlock still tightly held. His arms so cramped and contracted he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of letting him go right now.

It took a few long breaths to settle himself and quiet down his heart. A few minutes for his muscles to loosen just enough that Sherlock could shift his little head and release his own small lungs in a few coughs. It wasn’t a strong one either but more of a shallow, dry one.

John’s bloodshot eyes however, snapped open at the sound and raising a rather stiff hand, he rested it over Sherlock’s back and rubbed gently until it slowly passed.

The black door was no more than a shadow behind him now. Whatever had happened inside and however things had concluded in there was a mystery that John did not care much for. For the moment they appeared to be safe and that’s all he was counting on.

The room seemed much smaller yet somehow brighter now. The veil was gone for one but there were more people, including some of the many suited men that tiptoed around Mycroft and silently did as he said.

And it was then, as he was taking it all in through slightly squinted eyes, that a large shadow came to hover over him and Sherlock.

A shadow he knew too well.

So raising his eyes he met those of the man standing before him with an outstretched hand.

There was defiance in them both. But it was mixed with worry and concern which only served to confuse John even more.

Refusing the hand by looking to his side, John took a few calming long breaths through his nose, cleared his throat softly and met Mycroft’s eyes again; “You and I,” he sounded croaky so he cleared his throat again. “Have a very long conversation pending.” He paused and closed his eyes to take in a deep breath that he desperately needed. Opening them again he continued; “I don’t want to hear it right now. I don’t want you to say a word.” He took another deep breath; “But when I’m ready. I will ask you. And you will tell me. _Everything_.”

*****

Being back at 221 had never felt so amazing. Walking through that door had never felt so good. It was 6 in the afternoon and John was just about ready to take his aching body to bed.

Closing the front door he let out a long sigh.

“Maybe we should…” he whispered into the air. “Just keep our feet on the ground for a while.”

He took a moment before looking down towards his charge. Black curls in his field of view. Small eyes wide open. Soft, even breathing. Parted little lips marking a wet patch on John’s shirt. One hand fisted into the fabric whilst his other thumb, or rather thumb and index finger, chewed between his lips.

Sighing but content; “You’re gonna swallow that thumb one day,” John whispered shaking his head as he slowly, almost painfully, made his way up the stairs. Tired, sore and starving.

So desperate had John been to get out of _there_ that the pram had been left behind. Not that he cared.

Heading straight for the bathroom he dropped the nappy bag on the floor and walking to the change table he leaned forward in an attempt to put Sherlock down on his back. But in an almost desperate grasp, as if the act had caught him by surprise and suddenly feeling terrified of falling, little hands scrambled to hold on tighter to John as a frightened sound escaped Sherlock lips.

John immediately straightened back up a little taken aback at the reaction; “Hey,” he whispered gently readjusting Sherlock against his chest and placing a supportive hand on the back of his head to hold him still. “Hey.”

Sherlock trembled as his eyes took on a mild look of shock. Unusual as it seemed and definitely worrying to John.

So he held him tight and close. So close that he suddenly found himself...feeling exactly the same. 

A fear of letting go.

He was finding breathing a little difficult. His throat suddenly as tight as the hold he had on Sherlock.

“Oh my God,” he whispered…

He was afraid.

Absolutely terrified of losing Sherlock.

And it hurt.

It really, really hurt. 

The idea that he could have…

The mere thought that…

It made his eyes burn...

Taking a long and shaky breath that rippled through his chest he closed his eyes for a moment.

They both needed it. Just a moment. Just silence.

And from that silence and stillness allowed a...safe and warm sensation to grown and one that filtered through both bodies as their breathing slowed down and synced. 

He hadn’t meant to move but his feet slowly began to pace. A few steps with his eyes closed before he finally opened them up again.

Making it to the door, he slowly turned back. And then again. And one more time.

It was during his fourth turn of slow and undetermined steps…when he caught sight of himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of himself in the mirror. 

Coming to a stop he turned and stared.

Fascinated by what he saw. Confused as all hell but…fascinated. 

It took a moment but his frown slowly ironed out.

Why?

Why was it that for minutes at a time he could forget Sherlock was in fact an adult? He could forget that the person he held in his arms was his flatmate and a grown man.

For minutes at a time he felt…like a father. He felt like a dad.

His reaction to Moriarty and the danger he presented had been unexpected and instinctive. What was it about Sherlock that made John react in such a primal way to defend and protect him?

As a soldier in the field his reflexes acted out of knowledge and years of training. Even the unexpected was always dealt with with a degree of composure.

But today…today he’d acted out of impulse. The things that had raced through his mind. The fear. The panic. 

Only to be followed by this calm warmth of…oh what do you call all this? This feeling of responsibility and…

Sherlock shifted his little bottom on the arm John was supporting him on.

There it was. 

That.

A small human relying on him entirely. 

A huge personality weighing heavily against him and refusing to let go. 

Was this what a father looked like? 

Was this what his father had looked like with him?

Was this what he would look like with his own?

Digging his fingers slowly and softly into those eternally messy curls he kept his eyes on the mirror.

Sherlock now much obviously calmer wriggled into the touch and wormed even further into John if that were possible. Releasing his tension a short humoured breath escaped John as little arms and legs scrambled trying to get higher up. “That’s as high as you’re gonna get Sherlock. The next best thing is my shoulders,” he giggled. It was only when Sherlock’s little open hand pressed heavily on his bicep for support that he jerked slightly and hissed in pain.

With a slightly pained look he slowly turned left so he could have a better look at his right arm in the mirror. His sleeve clearly stained red.

“Shit,” he hissed, the realization unfortunately coming with a terrifying shift in thoughts…

God. 

Images of his day flooded his mind without a pause. 

The TARDIS. Echoes. Time rifts. The Doctor. Sherlock. Moriarty…even Mycroft.

The uncertainty of it all lingered in his mind.

Looking at those black curls in the mirror. A little face hidden against his neck...

What _was_ Sherlock’s story? Who was Moriarty and…what did he mean to Sherlock? Why this battle that almost got Sherlock himself _and_ three other people killed?

“Who are you Sherlock?” he whispered into the mirror failing, as much as he tried, to hide the hurt in his voice; “And why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth about you?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :) How are you all? I feel the need to express myself and tell you how wonderful you all are!!You're so kind to me.Your messages leave me speechless and in tears (happy tears).I can't begin to tell you how much you encourage me and how happy you guys make me!I just hope I do the same to you with my story :)
> 
> So here we are, another chapter. I don't really have much to say about this one either so...enjoy! :D xx

**DAY 5**

John had greeted the morning with a tough dilemma. 

The previous night had been anything but optimal to think things through but since first light this morning his mind was churning over. And it wasn’t so much about the things he didn’t know but instead about the things he _did_.

Chiefly: Sherlock could not be left alone under the care of anyone other than himself at any time and under no circumstance…as extreme at it sounded.

And so…here he was now…

With a very alert Sherlock strapped into his highchair as John stood with his back to him at the kitchen counter. He’d mixed into a small bowl and almost by default the right amount of rice cereal with formula making sure it wasn’t too hot. Making sure it wasn’t too cold. And then with an even smaller spoon he idly mixed…and mixed…and mixed…

The night had been a difficult one for them both.

*****

_The bath had been a relatively quick one. With Sherlock sitting in the small tub of warm bubbly water, John held him with his right hand from just under one of his little armpits as he manoeuvred as best he could and used his left hand to clean his wound._

_True to his nature Sherlock sat engrossed in John’s work turning his little head left, right and up to get a better view. Using both his little hands by placing them flat against the bottom of the small tub he shifted his little bottom to get a closer look. And for a moment he was content with just that but of course being Sherlock…that was never enough. So suddenly leaping forward he aimed for John’s arm. Too bad for him that John had a very strong hold on him and stopped him in his tracks; “Don’t even think about it,” he whispered completely unfazed by the action as if he’d been expecting it and instead continued to wipe at the blood._

_It was a very quick patch job for an injury that John felt was merely a scratch. Well, in comparison to actually receiving a bullet…it really was just a scratch. So late was he ‘to the party’ that most of the blood was dry and that which wasn’t, was quickly and easily wiped away. He would have to strap it later but for the moment at least it was clean…and he had to remove the temptation away from Sherlock…as strange and morbid as that sounded._

_Rolling down his sleeve again he turned his entire attention to those keen eyes that watched him. Gazes locked for a moment in which John read something…and with narrow eyes he replied; “No.” It was a humoured denial but a denial nonetheless._

_Shaking his head with a smile he let go of Sherlock to pour some shampoo into his hand; “Close your eyes,” whispered John._

_Sherlock did._

_“And your mouth silly,” whispered John releasing another short laugh._

_Sherlock did._

_He ran it through Sherlock’s curls rubbing it in softly with the tips of his fingers until he had him sufficiently lathered._

_He could feel and see the dirt coming loose. And it was maybe this that had Sherlock very cooperative._

_Reaching for a small hand towel to his side he dipped it in the water and began the delicate process of cleaning Sherlock’s little face. Supporting the back of the little head with one hand, he ran it over his forehead, down both eyelids, continued over his nose and then onto both chubby cheeks._

_With a small cup he then proceeded to wash the shampoo off of those curls. Keeping his hand along Sherlock’s hair line and just over his closed eyes, he dipped, poured and wiped the little face. Dipped, poured and wiped. Dipped, poured and wiped. Dipped, poured and wiped. Until Sherlock had nothing but water running down his face. Quickly he used his hand to softly but efficiently remove any left over water._

_Using the back of his own two little hands, Sherlock rubbed both his eyelids and even wiped from under his nose before opening his eyes to meet John._

_“Squeaky clean,” smiled John._

_*****_

_Walking into their bedroom, because it was _theirs_ now, John found that the cot no longer had a place or purpose in there. He was not about to let Sherlock sleep anywhere other than by his side. At least not for the foreseeable future. And if Sherlock could talk…he would have agreed._

_The light had gone out a while ago and only silence remained broken in intervals by the softness of their breaths._

_Sherlock rested against John’s chest feeling the tenderness of a large hand run lazily up and down his back. John let the rest of his aching body simply relax into the mattress which felt surprisingly more comfortable than it ever had._

_There was no reading tonight. No pacing._

_Just silence._

_“Are you tired?” whispered John, his voice soft and kind._

_If he could have, he would have seen Sherlock’s little face scrunch up as his lips parted wide with a generous yawn ending with his thumb resting back in his mouth. John did however feel the action vibrate against his chest bringing a smile to his face._

_“That’s good enough,” he whispered._

_And it soon became clear just how exhausted they both really were when in this silence they were soon sound asleep._

_It was not until around 2:45 in the morning when John stirred. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him out but something had shifted. Scratching his forehead and taking a deep breath that led to a large yawn, he sluggishly opened his eyes in the dark._

_The room seemed perfectly still and quiet. Just the way he’d left it when he’d dozed off._

_He’d moved Sherlock off his chest and onto the bed a long time ago to avoid hurting him in any move._

_So turning from his back onto his left side, his eyes slowly slid closed again but then...there it was again._

_It was a whimper._

_Opening his eyes again he tried to adjust them in the dark._

_It was Sherlock._

_He had begun to tremble and sweat. He seemed to be hyperventilating and though his eyes remained closed his little arms and legs began to thrash around getting more and more agitated. Large tears were forming at the edge of both eyes as he suddenly became more vocal._

_Immediately rising John carefully moved until he was kneeling on the ground closest to the side where Sherlock was feeling this was a very familiar move._

_From experience he knew children this young rarely had night terrors and they presented quite differently to this…so this had to be a nightmare._

_Heavens knew what Sherlock was running from or fighting against but he could certainly imagine and he had to do something._

_Placing one hand softly over Sherlock’s little forehead and his other over his chest without any pressure at all, he leaned into Sherlock’s ear and began to whisper; “Shh shh shh shh…I’m here…I’m here Sherlock. I’m here…come on buddy…I’m here. You’re safe baby. I’m here. I promise I’m here…”_

_Endearments came naturally to him. Any other day Sherlock would have stared him down for it. But the situation seemed to demand for them. “I’m here…”_

_Slowly little arms and legs stopped their struggle as whimpers lessened and his little body relaxed again._

_Needless to say John had spent the rest of the night curled towards Sherlock, alternating between short bouts of sleep and a constant eye on him._

*****

They say children rarely remember their nightmares. And there seemed to be some truth to it because despite the fact that John was a little sleep deprived…Sherlock was wide awake and raring to go!

But that wasn’t the problem…the problem was…

‘Stay at home dad…?’ John thought.

Having skipped Sherlock’s bath this morning in favour of feeding him John poured himself some coffee and waited for his toast to jump.

‘Well…it’s only for a little while,’ he argued. ‘I mean only for as long as Sherlock is like this…but then…how long _will_ he be like this? And then…what about the money? We can’t survive on my savings. And the funds Mycroft gives me are for Sherlock and his care. Albeit it’s a lot. Definitely more than he really needs or even spends. Sherlock’s half of the rent and bills are also being paid for…lucky bastard.’

His toast was almost ready.

‘I don’t want to leave my job…I love my job. I love what I do. It gives me purpose and independence and…I don’t know…it makes me happy…that plus it’s my sole income…’

His toast was ready.

‘I mean I can always go back. Once Sherlock is ready for crech…oh what am I saying? Sherlock and crèche!’ he laughed. ‘He’d murder me in my sleep.’ He giggled once more. ‘And then again…the whole reason behind this is that…I can’t and I don’t want to leave him alone. Not after what happened yesterday. _All_ of yesterday! God forbid!’

His toast was past ready.

‘Maybe Mycroft’s famous nanny?’ his face immediately scrunched in aversion. ‘God no! I never liked her. And besides…I don’t _want_ anyone looking after him. I don’t want anyone else near him. This is something I want to do…I don’t want to be away from him. I know what that’s like now and…God no. Never again…but then…’

His toast was burnt.

‘No! He’s mine. He’s my responsibility. He’s my best friend. He’s my…he’s my…’ he knew what he was thinking but even there he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!

His toast was charcoal.

Snapping out with a jerk he quickly flicked the toast off and ran over to the smoke alarm in the small corridor near the bedroom and bathroom fanning it desperately with a towel.

“Shut up!” he shouted over the incessant beeping…until it did.

Dropping his arms he let out a long breath and headed back into the kitchen where he came face to face with the most puzzled and bewildered looking child he’d ever come across.

Looking over at his blackened toast and then at Sherlock, and then back at his toast and then…back at Sherlock…he burst out laughing.

An uncontrollable, doubling over himself laugh.

And it seemed contagious because soon Sherlock’s little mouth let out a giggle…that quickly turned into the most innocent sounding laughter.

Leaning over a chair directly opposite to where Sherlock sat, John looked at him now sobered up but with a soft smile displayed on his lips. 

He looked at that boy and…well…it all seemed to just fall into place.

“I’m a stay at home dad!”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :) How are you all? Next chapter is here! Thank you for your patience. Enjoy :) xx

_“So that’s it?” said Sarah with a tone that bordered between sad and disappointed. “You’ll drop everything and give up your life for a child that’s not even yours…”_

_John’s answer was ready at the tip of his tongue._

_“He’s mine now Sarah.”_

*****

He stared at the can of mixed beans in his hand for longer than was strictly necessary. To a passerby he was simply a man with a child considering his options amongst the selection of beans available in respect to their prices…or rather overprices. Reality was however; the man before you now was an unemployed full-time dad who had too many thoughts and not enough time to process them…

Interesting as it was when you consider this time last week he was a working doctor, with no other obligations to his name and planning a night out with his rugby mates…

Interesting indeed…

“Ow,” he whispered, reflexively jerking his head forward as he felt a tug at a few hairs around the back of his neck.

It was 5 days in and he was back at the supermarket with Sherlock. Pram-less as they were along with the occupational health and safety issues that Sherlock in a trolley child-seat presented, John had had to resort to a different form of carrying…

*****

_Lying it out of the bed John looked at it as he would a math problem._

_“Alright,” he sighed. “How do you go into that?” he asked looking at the item and then at Sherlock who was sitting next to it._

_Running his eyes over it he moved to undo the buckles and pulled at the straps in their separate directions. Sherlock somehow took this as a cue and crawled his way onto it…much to John’s surprise quite frankly._

_“Ok…” he whispered absentmindedly as he took Sherlock and turned him around so he was facing away from him. And still holding him in a somewhat upright position, he then brought the material up and proceeded to wriggle small arms and legs into where he assumed they went._

_With only two hands to help himself and a child to hold at the same time, he had a tough time of it as the straps would go in over one little arm and slip off the other. You must keep in mind that this was all very new to him and that this ‘contraption’ as such, probably looked harder to work than he would ultimately come to realize it was. And with Sherlock unable to do much but hold relatively still he really didn’t know if he was doing it right._

_But after a few turns, a couple of pulls and one sudden and unfortunate yank that cost him a backhand to the mouth by his own hand…eventually…_

*****

Placing the can into the trolley he continued on with Sherlock nice and securely strapped around his back in a very snug navy blue baby carrier that they hadn’t had to make use of until now. 

There were many pros to carrying Sherlock in this manner. The close proximity they were in in relation to each other had them both content. He didn’t have to keep tabs on Sherlock because he knew exactly where he was at all times, _literally_. In addition his hands were now free to use for whatever purpose. However, and with a sigh, after a few pinches to his arms, pulls to his hair and one or two sudden kicks, he could see the cons quickly outweighing and himself changing his mind.

But never mind that for the moment. 

Walking a little further he found the stuffed olives. 

And a little further more the tomato sauce.

*****

_“You understand now,” said the man in an even tone. “Why I couldn’t leave my brother alone.”_

_John wasn’t having this conversation now and much less over the phone, but he had to let Mycroft know of his decision. After his little epiphany, John had had to move fast. He was expected at work in just under 2 hours which meant he had a few calls to make and rather quickly._

_He was still sitting at the kitchen table next to Sherlock in his highchair. With one hand supporting the phone against his ear, he used the other to scoop some cereal with a spoon and lifted it up to Sherlock’s lips. No sooner had the spoon come into sight that Sherlock lifted both arms to take it from him with little hands._

_“No,” John whispered gently as he moved the spoon up and out of Sherlock’s reach. “Open up. Sherlock,” his voice soft in the hope to encourage those little arms down._

_Mycroft allowed them a moment. Or perhaps he was allowing himself one before; “Why I had to keep a constant watch on him. My intentions were not unjustified. Much as he despises it, he needed to be protected. He still does.”_

_Little lips were parted and ready but those arms refused to give up and continued to aim up towards the spoon._

_“Which is why I’m doing this,” rationalized John, followed by another whispered; “Sherlock.”_

_The silence which took over the phone line carried a heavy tension that was only relieved with a sudden and almost whispered; “And I am truly grateful for it. John. You’re good for him. You…”_

_There was pause in which neither of them knew what to do with that._

_And it continued…_

_“My brother has never had that…despite my best efforts…”_

_There was such an…honesty and humanity in that voice that John felt almost…uncomfortable…and awkward…and flattered._

_The spoon slowly and unwittingly came down to just within Sherlock’s reach. “Mycroft…” John whispered catching himself by surprise._

_But he was cut short as he heard a sharp breath of energy being taken on the other end and the voice diverting; “You will have all the help you require John.”_

_Sherlock had hold of the spoon. John, though still holding it himself, was too dazed by the words exchanged to even notice._

_Unsure of what to say he; “Um…” and was only made to react when he finally felt the tug at the spoon. Blinking and swallowing he focused his attention back on Sherlock thinking it best to continue with the initial intention of this phone call; “Um…I will need your help with something in particular.” And then whispered yet another; “Sherlock, let go.”_

_“I have told you from the beginning John that money is not an issue.”_

_“I’m sure for you it isn’t Mycroft, but for the rest of us mere mortals…”_

_“John, the money you currently receive will be increased and in addition the entire rent will be looked after from here on.”_

_There was too much certainty in that voice. So much so that John could not help think that this was all planned ahead of time. That Mycroft had in fact just been waiting for this phone call. It made John terribly uncomfortable but not incredibly surprised._

_Sherlock’s grip on the spoon was tight. So much so that John gave up on the idea of getting it back and instead began to guide it towards his little mouth with the ‘aid’ of Sherlock’s little ones._

_“There is another issue,” began John watching Sherlock close his little mouth around the spoon. “The practice. I’m quitting my job with almost no notice at all and Sarah will, well, not only will she hate me from here on, but she will also be left one doctor down. Is there any way…”_

_“There’s a very promising young doctor who will benefit much from working full time with Ms Sawyer.” There was a twinkle in that voice that John knew all too well._

_Between narrow and speculative eyes John asked; “Am I to understand that I have been relieved and replaced of my duties at the practice?”_

_There was a thin smile on the other side of the line. He could feel it._

_Rolling his eyes he shook his head with a long breath…_

_“I’d say I’m surprised bu…Sherlock…” his attention shifting in his gentle attempt to recover the spoon from between tightly shut little lips._

*****

In go the tomatoes. The broccoli and the cauliflower. Along with some courgettes, half a pumpkin and two eggplants. 

A bag of apples and a few bananas. Some soft pears and five apricots.

*****

_“Why?” she asked_

_Wow. Where do you start really?_

_“I mean it’s not that I wasn’t expecting it, I just…” she drifted._

_The disappointment in her voice would almost be insulting if weren’t because John felt genuinely bad about doing this. She had put up with a lot from him. She had been patient and understanding…but you could only ask for so much before…well, maybe she was right to be disillusioned in him._

_John took a deep breath. “I…”_

_“What?” she whispered_

_“Sarah. One day. I promise, one day, I’ll explain everything. Everything that makes no sense to you right now. Everything…that’s happened…everything…just…just not now. I can’t.”_

_“Fine,” she whispered, “that’s…fine.”_

_They gave each other a second of silence._

_Until finally, he heard a long, soft sigh; “Oh John…”_

_“We’ll still see each other,” whispered John. “And I still have your book,” he said aiming for optimism._

_She smiled. He could feel it. “Remind me why you needed it?” she asked a little humoured._

_“Oh no reason just…just some light bedtime reading,” he giggled. She joined him but then quickly added sounding horrified; “Oh God, not for Hamish I hope?”_

_John looked over at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow and then at the heavy drops of cereal running down two of the cupboard doors and ending in a puddle on the floor where only minutes ago and in an attempt to take hold of the bowl, Sherlock had accidently sent it flying across._

_“No. Not for Hamish,” sighed John._

*****

“Did you want any cash out?” asked the young brunette at the cashier.

“No thanks.”

“Ok,” she touched the screen in front of her to get a final amount. “That comes to £29.25.”

His eyebrows shot up as he took out his card and handed it over. He waited for her to key in the transaction before he typed in his pin and once approved removed his card and placed back in his wallet.

“Here you go,” she smiled handing over the receipt. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks.”

Putting his wallet into his back pocket he gathered his bags and stepped out through the detectors. 

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Immediately stopping and turning he looked at the cashier who had attended him with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. He’d paid for all his items. They were there on the receipt.

“That’s alright. They do that sometimes,” she said warmly coming around from her work station and taking the bags from him. Looking inside them she walked back in past the detectors. They didn’t react. Holding the bags in front of them. They didn’t react.

Both frowned as he stepped back in and;

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Now he really was embarrassed! What was making the detectors go off?

He only had the nappy bag, wallet, keys and phone.

“What the…?”

“Sir,” said a soft female voice. “Sir,” she insisted. The elderly lady who had been waiting behind him in line got his attention with a genuinely sweet smile. “Your baby,” she pointed at Sherlock.

Turning his head right and looking over his shoulder as best he could…

“Sherlock!”

Reaching behind him as best he could, he took the object out of Sherlock’s tight grip receiving a loud growl in response. Taking one look at the item his arms dropped as he once again turned his head and looking over his shoulder he asked; “And just what on earth am I supposed to do with 50 birthday candles?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that the last few chapters have had a lot of flashbacks it seems and I know some people don't really like them. I admit the timeline can get a little confusing and to be honest I hadn't meant for there to be so many. If there's anything that doesn't make sense please let me know and I'll clarify. I will also try to avoid them a little more. Thank you :) xx


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope you're all well. I know I do this a lot but it's because I owe it to you. I want to apologise for the delay. I try to update as often as I can but unfortunately I've had some personal issues I've had to deal with, along with the fact that I had a little difficulty putting this chapter together (possibly because of my frame of mind at the moment). But I will not abandon this story because I respect it but mostly I respect all of you! You have given me and this story a chance and I owe it to you all. Thank you as always and I hope you enjoy :) xx

**DAY 7**

Wow…just…how?

Just how did the flat come to be in this state?

He thought he had been on top of it all. He really did.

Yet as he held a pair of dirty jocks and a stained white tee of Sherlock's in one hand and Sherlock himself in the other arm, he took one look at the flat from the kitchen door and found a flaw in his previous notion.

"Oh God," he groaned softly.

The place was an absolute chaos!

The dishes had piled. The kitchen floor was sticky. The counter tops needed a scrubbing and the rugs a desperate vacuuming. The bed sheets smelt of sweat and...perhaps something else…unfortunately. And the amount of washing! In fact it was that which had brought his attention to this matter in the first place; he was out of clean underwear!

What _had_ he been doing in the last couple of days?

Taking a deep breath he figured he had to start somewhere…

…only problem…where do you put Sherlock whilst you got on with the house chores?

If this was your ordinary child, a playpen would do just fine for at least a couple of hours. With Sherlock however things such as that were out of the question. He figured he could let him roam the flat as he pleased provided that all doors were closed and locked…though with everything that happened around this creature of his, a locked door didn’t necessarily equate to ‘safe’. Regardless, he thought it to be his best bet at ever getting anything done.

So heading to the living room he made a quick scan before gently pushing the ottoman with his foot to one side. If there was any safe place for Sherlock to be it was the floor. At least from there he didn't have anywhere further to fall and John could keep an eye on him at all times….well most of the time. So lowering a nappy clad Sherlock down onto the soft rug that cushioned the floor, he knelt in front of him; "Ok. I have an absurd amount of things to do so, do you think you could help me out by…not…disappearing? Or at least not doing anything silly?" he asked gently.

Sherlock sat up straighter offering him his best 'offended' look which was more a pout than anything else, making John suddenly feel the need to justify himself; "I'm not saying you will…I just…never mind." He paused and let out a sigh before; "I'm gonna be here the whole time ok. Just gonna be jumping from room to room. But you'll see me. Ok?"

Sherlock remained silent but kept his eyes on John.

Following Sherlock's lead, John sat a little straighter and began to look around the room for…something. Now any other child would be content with a few stuffed toys and soft books. For Sherlock however, John had to take a moment and think. 

What entertained the 'adult' Sherlock more than anything? 

Well he could think of one thing that he easily reached for in his own pocket; Sherlock's Blackberry. He'd carried it with him since all this had begun.

But that certainly wouldn't be enough, not when Sherlock couldn't do much with it to begin with. So having another thought he stood and walked towards the bookshelf.

Reaching up John retrieved two books; The Children's Encyclopaedia and The Lamplighter. Sure enough Sherlock couldn't read but he wasn't about to point that out. So convinced with his choices of entertainment John turned and came to a sudden halt emitting a sound of surprise. Sitting right behind him and looking up at him was Sherlock lucky that John had not accidentally stepped on him.

Frowning; "You ok?"

Sherlock kept his silence and instead turned around and crawled back to the rug followed by John.

Placing the phone along with the novels down he had to admit he felt a little bad doing this…but what else could he do? They had to learn to manage ordinary life around each other, he only hoped Sherlock could understand that.

Taking the remote control he switched on the television for some soft background noise and with one last look at Sherlock who had immediately aimed for his Blackberry, John headed to both exits closing and locking them and then headed straight for their bedroom. 

Quickly removing the bedsheets and picking up the odd garment that adorned the floor, he walked into the bathroom and began to separate everything within the hamper; Sherlock's from his. Coloured from white. And with his four piles he turned to head back out…but once again he found himself halting mid action.

"You bored already?" John joked.

Two small and gentle eyes observed him from the bathroom door.

"Sherlock, you ok?" asked John gently and with a touch of concern.

Once again his answer came in the form of a tiny bottom crawling away from him back towards the living room.

John's frown deepened but he continued on with his dirty clothing.

*****

He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until he feared he could see his reflection in the bathtub. Finally sitting up straight he let out a long and tired breath. His back was beginning to ache as were his arms, but it needed to be done.

Gathering up some strength and supporting himself on the edge of the tub, he stood and began watering down the soap on the walls, the corners and the floor itself...all the while knowing that he was being watched…

It wasn't constant. Now and then really. Perhaps every 5 minutes or so. But out of the corner of his eye he could see a round head of black curls sneak around, have a look and seeming content with his investigation, make his way back to where he was.

*****

Following a lunch of asparagus soup and toasted bread he continued on with his duties taking the opportunity to tackle the kitchen.

At least from here that little bottom didn't have far to travel. In fact...he no longer seemed to be doing any travelling at all.

Keeping his head tucked away inside the fridge giving it a good scrub John tried to make conversation; "Are you tired?" he asked.

And scrubbed and scrubbed.

"Oi Sherlock?" he repeated.

His motion continuous.

"Sherlock?"

Stopping with another long and even more exhausted breath he turned his head towards the living room; "Sherlock I'm tal…Sherlock?"

He frowned scanning the living room at an angle from underneath the kitchen table.

"Sherlock?"

Where was he?

Leaving the sponge he immediately stood up and wiping his hands on a towel near by he strode back into the living room; "Sherlock?!" he called out. His heart pounded; "Jesus Christ. Not again! Sherlock!"

That panic nausea was back as he began his search

…which actually ended…well…quite suddenly really. 

“Sherlock?” he whispered a little surprised and coming to a stop. Lowering to his knees; “Sherlock. What are you doing there?” he continued now torn between relieved, concern and curious.

There he was.

A small figure sitting within the small gap between the sofa and the wall. There was only just enough room for him there but he seemed comfortable enough. With his little legs out in front of him and his eyes blinking but fixed on nothing in particular.

Supporting himself on the edge of the sofa; “Sherlock?” John whispered.

No reaction.

“Sherlock, Can you please come out of there?” he begged softly.

No response.

"Sherlock," he begged softly.

Keeping his eyes fixed on him, John studied him, as a dad and as a doctor. Sherlock looked fine. He was breathing. He was holding himself up on his own accord. He didn't seem distressed or anxious. So…what was this about?

They continued on in this uncertain silence for a few minutes before John slowly turned in his spot. Coming to sit on the floor, he rested his back against the side of the sofa making himself as comfortable as he could and stretched his legs out before him.

The television playing mindlessly but quietly in the background.

*****

10 minutes later. John turned his head around the corner. No change.

*****

20 minutes later. John turned his head around the corner. No change.

*****

30 minutes later. John turned his head around the corner…and smiled…slowly and softly.

Small arms and legs had crawled in on themselves in the small gap…and fallen fast asleep.

Shifting enough that he could lean his head on some part of the sofa and face Sherlock, John watched him in silence. His smile mostly gone and only a sense of apprehension and fear left behind. A feeling that he tried to express in barely there whispers; "I'm sorry Sherlock. I'm so sorry if I don't understand you sometimes. I really am." He paused to swallow and take a deep quiet breath. "But I'm trying…I swear I'm trying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two books mentioned here can actually be found in the bookshelf of 221B :) If you watch carefully during The Blind Banker and The Reichenbach Fall you'll spot them!
> 
> The next chapter is almost finished :) Should be up by tomorrow!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! :) I'm so glad I'm actually having the time to sit down and write and moreover I'm now more inspired! Thank you all for your always encouraging comments!
> 
> Enjoy and the next one is well on its way. I won't say it will be up within the next few days but hopefully before the end of this week :)

Finally coming to lie on his back, his left arm by his side, right arm over his stomach, he let out a long breath as he felt his muscles relax into the softness of the rug in the middle of the living room floor.

God he was tired.

7 days.

It had already been 7 days...

That’s a week!

How had time slipped right past him? One day suddenly blending into the next. A life, it seemed, of too many days and not enough nights.

Get up. Bathe. Dress. Cook. Feed...and all this just around Sherlock! In addition coming to terms with the cleaning, washing and even entertaining part of it, well John was simply out for the day.

He’d never really known what having a child around the house did to a person. He’d heard of it. He’d thought of it. And now he understood it!

Sherlock's nap, because that's really what it had been, had lasted an hour exact. No more. No less. Wouldn't be Sherlock if he wasn't pedantic even about that. 

There were plenty of things that still needed doing but instead John had remained with him the entire time, letting him sleep it out in the spot he'd nestled himself in. He'd also considered moving him but then thought against it in fear of waking him.

To be honest John was still a little confused about Sherlock's behaviour today. And he still had no idea what to make of it all. He supposed it was something he would have to keep a close eye on if it were to happen again.

But for now, hours later and well into the late part of the evening, the flat continued in a relative dimness and a gentle silence that was only broken by the soft and far in-between noises Sherlock would make.

And it was here. Lying on the floor. On a rug. Staring at the ceiling and taking long even breaths…that John stopped.

With a small Sherlock sitting a mere few centimetres from his head. He only needed to shift his head a little up and right to see him.

Sherlock had been ‘busy’ flipping through the pages of an old notebook that he'd gone in search of and which John had had to eventually point at and reach for him of course. Though really more than flipping the pages, he was scrunching and tearing them between his little uncoordinated fingers. In fact John was surprised he hadn’t yet heard a frustrated scream or growl from him. Maybe the notebook wasn’t much loved…? Point was he was apparently content with just being there.

Closing his eyes for a moment he continued to listen to the pages rustle besides him.

Until they stopped and was only followed by silence.

Fearing that Sherlock had, out of boredom, bolted to some other place he opened his eyes.

But no. There he was. Still sitting there but…watching John…with an odd expression on his face.

What was that? Confusion?

“Are you ok there?” asked John a little humoured

Of course no response. He wasn’t expecting one.

“Ok,” John whispered closing his eyes yet again.

The silence remained.

And it all stayed that way until John felt the lightest touch of little fingers on his right eyelid. Yet he didn’t feel the urge to do anything. He didn’t move. He didn’t open his eyes. He just let it happen.

Those little fingertips became a bit more adventurous as they began running across John’s nose and right cheek.

John’s lips itched to smile. And they did.

“What are you doing?” he whispered

Still no response.

And those little fingertips stopped.

Finally John felt compelled to open his eyes only to find a gorgeous pair of blue grey ones staring back at him.

His eyes narrowed wanting to figure this little man out. But soon his thoughts turned in a different direction...

“At the risk of stroking your ego beyond recognition...you’re a really cute kid,” he said honestly but had to add with a simle; “And don’t give me that look. This is the first and last time you’ll hear that you smug mini me.”

He knew Sherlock was a strange beauty. Ethereal if you wish. His adult self certainly was. But the child was not far behind at all.

Sherlock shifted his little self to seat even closer to John’s head almost leaning up against him.

Unable to resist the urge, John lifted his left hand and gave Sherlock’s bulging tummy a soft poke. Sherlock blinked mildly surprised but didn’t react. As John’s arm came back down however, his look became a little serious as did his voice; “Am I doing a good job?”

He was a little taken aback by his own words and so there was a pause which he used to gather himself.

Clearing his throat softly he turned his eyes back up to the ceiling and closed them again; “Never mind.”

After a moment of silence those adventurous little fingertips made a reappearance as he felt light feather touches around his ear and cheek.

He let them pursue their objective until he finally caved and keeping his eyes closed he turned his head towards them, inching a little further into them. Little did he know...

What happened next...he didn’t see coming. But he enjoyed every second of it.

Sherlock leaned over and onto him, hugging his head as best he could from the position he was in and with such tiny arms to reach around.

John was startled for all of a second before he couldn’t do more but lean straight into the hug. Furthermore he grabbed Sherlock from this awkward position and pulled him right over him and onto his chest. He cushioned the small head against his neck and just held on tight.

God, why were his eyes suddenly burning? And he couldn't swallow past this tight knot in his throat?

"I'm really glad to be doing this. You know that," he whispered sincerely into those curls. "I really am…you really do mean a lo…" his breath seemed to catch in his throat as he instead pressed his head against the much smaller one. 

"I'm glad you chose me," he finally continued. "Thank you." His voice tightened. "Really…thank you."

Sherlock remained silent and still.

"Thank you."

*****

**DAY 10**

It didn't stop. In fact over the last four days John had witnessed a pattern form.

Regardless of what time of the day it was. Regardless of whether they had been out running errands. Regardless of whether they'd had just eaten breakfast, lunch or dinner. At some point during the day, Sherlock would grow very quiet and slowly make his way to the back of the sofa. And after making himself comfortable…he would simply sit there and…ponder? Analyse? Reflect? Contemplate perhaps?

John was happy to admit he was a little slow to pick it up but eventually he came to the conclusion that part of this was Sherlock just being….well Sherlock.

This was his mind palace. 

This was his retreat…however odd of a place to 'retreat' _to_ it was. John could certainly think of better places within this flat to sit and think, but this was Sherlock and this is the place he'd chosen.

He couldn't begin to imagine what raced through that mind now, and perhaps, if only for a moment during the day, Sherlock simply needed to be…alone. And John understood that. Not only understood but also accepted. 

So despite keeping a constant watch on him. Despite quietly looking over him every 5 minutes or so…he didn't bother him in the slightest. He kept quiet. He went as far as tiptoeing around the flat just to be sure he wasn't breaking through any thoughts.

Never again had he tried to persuade him out like he had the first time. 

Now, he simply allowed Sherlock the moment he was silently asking for.

There was however a part to all this that felt to John…more like a 'baby factor' and less of a 'Sherlock factor'. It was what happened around 30 minutes after. He'd seen it 'in action' once as he just happened to be checking up on him at the time. 

It was the shifting and shuffling of a little body until his head came to rest on the floor, his small arms were nicely tucked beneath him and a round bum was up in the air…slowly drifting off to sleep. For an hour exact of course!

It was one of those things that made John's heart smile and ache all the same time. This was Sherlock. The great and wonderful detective. The eminent mind of the 21st century…small, fragile, vulnerable even…drifting off to sleep. 

And though there were many things John didn't do, there was one which he thought would be much appreciated. Like a father sneaking in the middle of the night to put presents under the tree before christmas morning, John had slipped out of their room in the middle of the night and placed two soft, almost cuddly, flannelettes behind the sofa. One folded on the floor for comfort and the other thrown a little unevenly up against the wall. Looking at his work for a moment he had then pattered back into the room and slept soundly through the rest of the night.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm here! :) Thank you for your patience. Trying to work, study and move house...really takes a toll on you!I can attest to that now hehe 
> 
> So my deepest apologies as always.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

**DAY 15**

She took a deep breath. And let it go.

"So?" she asked gently, attempting a discreet scan of the living room as she made her way in. "How's it going?" her lips twitching into a soft smile at the sight of bibs along with tiny tees and leggings littering the sofa just waiting to be folded.

"Um…fine…" he stated just as gently as he followed her gaze to the sofa where he quickly reacted making his way to the items and collecting them in no order.

Turning back to her; "I think," giggling nervously. "I'm sorry," holding the items in his hands.

She shook her head tenderly setting him at ease.

"How about you?" he continued. "How have you been?"

She nervously twisted the white strings of a paper bag she carried in her hand; "Good. Good," her voice almost too soft to be sincere.

"That's good," he whispered back all too knowing.

A short pause followed with all eye contact avoided until a sharp inhale was heard; "So? Where's Hamish? How is he?" she whispered smiling.

"Um…" he thought for all of a second before turning in his spot and placing the clothes back on the sofa in a more or less ordered pile.

Where was Hami…Sherlock?

Well…Sherlock was, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.

And as far as how he was?

Well…Sherlock was, to put it kindly, grumpy.

Actually, feral if you asked John.

And when Sherlock was in a mood John knew he would do one of two things:

*****

 _One: crawl in on himself and avoid all human contact_

"He's fine. He's fine yeah. We've um…" he scratched his head quickly. "We've had a bit of a rough morning today but," he said apologetically. 

She smiled softly in understanding; "Told you it was tough," she added playfully.

"You have no idea," agreed John

"You look tired," she continued. "Have you been getting any sleep?"

He took his own deep breath; "Um, yeah. For the most part. Yeah."

Her look becoming a little somber at her following question; "And Sherlock?...Still nowhere to be seen I suppose?"

John's eyes wandered; "Actua…oh."

As if summoned a little head popped around the corner from the kitchen to inspect who had entered his...dominion.

Turning around Sarah found herself looking at Hami…Sherlock. And smiling; "Hi sweetheart," she offered him a small wave.

If Sherlock's mood could be described in one physical action, it was the way his little eyebrows deepened into a frown and his lips tightened into a thin line.

John took a very deep, very patient breath.

"Is he still not saying much?" she asked turning back to John.

"You could say that yeah," John said between thin lips and a raised eyebrow.

Turning back to Sherlock she stretched out the arm that held the bag and with a tender smile; "This is for you sweetheart. Do you wanna come have a look?"

And just as he had appeared…he disappeared.

Back around the corner that little head went.

John took it in stride. That wasn't to say he was pleased at all with Sherlock's behaviour today.

"Guess not," she smiled back at John.

"Please ignore him. He's…"

"Oh God no. No. That's ok," she smiled genuinely. "After everything he's been through? God no. Poor little guy. I don't blame him."

And instead; "Here," handed the bag to John. "I saw it in a store and I honestly couldn't help myself," she explained. "It was so cute. And since I don't actually…well _know_ many people with babies I think I'll take this opportunity," she giggled.

John smiled as he looked into the bag and pulled out a dark blue, soft and fluffy textured material. Holding out in front of him he found a 'monster' style onesie that came with both a tale and a hoodie with pointy ears.

He couldn't help his own giggle. It really _was_ utterly adorable! 

…getting it on Sherlock may not be quite so 'adorable' but that was a thought for another day.

"I know he probably won't be using it yet," she justified. "With this heat we're going through. But it's quite big so it should fit him once winter comes around!" she smiled.

John raised a pair smiling eyes to her; "Thank you. Really. Thank you. It's gorgeous."

She returned the smile with a gaze that lingered…

And lingered...

Until; "Do you want something to drink?" he broke. "Tea? Coffee? Formula?"

She laughed softly; "Oh. I should probably get going. Besides you probably have things to do."

"No. No. Well yeah but…nothing that can't wait," he coaxed. "Besides…it's nice to have adult company for a bit. Other than Mrs Hudson, I don't really get many visitors," he admitted and continued with a quick; "That and I'd love to hear all about the new kid on the block."

"Are you sure?" she reaffirmed.

"Absolutely."

She smiled sweetly and though she hesitated a little; "Some tea would be nice."

He smiled; "I'll get right on it."

*****

_Two: make sure anyone and everyone around him knew about it_

"He's a smart kid I have to give it to him. Young. Ambitious. He'll get very far and in a very short amount of time" she finished before sipping her hot tea at the kitchen table.

"He sounds like a true gift from God," said John, the sarcasm well and truly implied.

"Don't be like that," she whispered humorously. "Besides…he didn't replace you. He could never…" her voice sincere and deep in emotion. "He has his own place. Just like you still have yours."

John didn't miss the tenses in that sentence. Gave him flutters to be honest.

In John's mind and frankly in reality, a younger and certainly much more reliable 'new kid' _had_ replaced him at the clinic and despite thinking himself above it he couldn't help feel the smallest of professional jealousies. But then he supposed he'd left it for something much better …even if that 'better' was currently being an absolute pest!

THUMP.

CRASH.

Both heads jerked up from their teas and looked towards the bedroom before they were up and rushing towards the source of the noise.

"What the…Sher - Hamish!" John voice stern.

Having found the electrical cord to the bedside lamp, Sherlock had taken hold of it and pulled…and pulled…and pulled…until the lamp slipped off the edge towards the ground and upon impact, shattered into a few large pieces missing him by just a few centimetres.

John let out a frustrated breath as he began picking up the pieces of the lamp.

In definite contrast, Sarah's immediate reaction was to head for Sherlock and reach out for him but predictively she was rejected as Sherlock turned his back to her, seeking out John with his eyes instead.

Witnessing John's behaviour and his exchange with the infant filled her with a growing concern and even annoyance towards John; "It was just an accident John" she whispered just as sternly.

John closed his eyes for a brief second and let out a breath; "I'm sorry," opening his eyes again. Whispered; "I'm sorry. I know." Putting the pieces of his lamp back on the floor he aimed his arms at Sherlock; "Come here."

He didn't.

*****

"The place certainly looks different," she smiled. "I can actually take steps without having to hurdle!"

They shared a laugh.

"I know right! Trust me, having a child did me a lot of good!" he joked but soon sobered; "Mycroft…you remember Mycroft? Sherlock's brother," he prompted.

"Yeah. Yeah."

"Yeah well…he's quite frankly been a great help. It's thanks to him this place is baby proof."

"That's nice of him," she smiled. "But it is his nephew after all."

"I suppose."

In the pause that followed he could just make out her inner struggle between daring to ask something and leaving it as it was.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing…" unconvinced. "I just…I don't understand."

"I know…I know," he whispered.

"Who is this little boys mother? I mean I understand your housemate being an irresponsible…" she withheld the insult. "But his mother? Really?"

"Sarah…." he paused. "I don't know what to say. It's a…complicated…scenario."

"And you don't trust me enough to tell me?"

"It's not that Sarah. I…."

He paused at…

What was that?

A deep grunting. A deep growling.

Followed by more grunting…the annoyed and angry type.

Sarah seemed to catch on as she began to search for the sound herself.

And it only grew louder. And louder until…

"Oh," she whispered with a look of innocent amusement and barely holding a laugh.

"Hamish," asked John. "What are you doing?" he wondered softly.

Struggling but determined was this creature.

Following their bedroom incident, Sherlock had slowly made his way behind the couch. A couch which was soon taken by John and Sarah…and their longwinded conversation. An unfortunate decision in which Sherlock's daily routine had been compromised.

So with an aggressive attitude Sherlock had not only crawled his way out but was dragging the flannelettes with him. Just barely and with all his energy. Their weight holding him back more than once. But this was Sherlock and he would do as he would do.

"Hamish," John continued as he stood up to deal with it.

*****

It was only when a Blackberry was thrown, or at least attempted at being thrown, right across the room that things had finally escalated.

"Hamish! Cut it out!" John had had enough. Really. He'd had it.

"John," Sarah warned softly watching John stand up from the sofa and head towards the phone. 

The boy himself currently residing under the dining table looking flushed and angry.

"Hamish. Come out from under there please," asked John, phone in hand.

Sarah stood from her seat but remained still.

"Hamish. Come on," he repeated stretching one arm to try and reach him. "Hamish."

Sherlock seemed to shiver and instead crawled out from a different side of the table soon finding something terribly interesting in the floor beneath him. His little fingernails digging and digging.

John followed him with his gaze. As did Sarah.

"You sure he's ok?" asked Sarah with an assessing look. "He looks a bit sweaty and red."

"He's fine," whispered John.

But that wasn't true. Far from it. And he knew it as he examined Sherlock with his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe it's the heat that's brought this on."

"Take his little tee off," she offered.

John agreed soundlessly as he walked towards Sherlock, who at the sight of him repeated an action from earlier today…crawled away from John.

Letting his arms drop, John straightened and let out long and tired breath.

Sherlock...

"Could you give me a minute?" he whispered.

"Of course," she whispered back.

*****

"Sherlock?" he whispered making his way into the bedroom.

Nothing.

"Sherlock?" he tried again.

He knew where he was. He could see him. Sherlock wasn't exactly hiding as he sat next to the end of the cot furthest from the door.

"Sherlock," John whispered slowly making his way to him.

Surprised that he hadn't yet shifted away John continued further and further until he finally came to kneel in front of him.

They gave each other a minute.

"Sherlock," John whispered.

And that's all it took. All it took for those beautiful eyes to well up and release heavy, wet tears.

"Sherlock," John whispered yet again. Growing to deeply hate himself and _his own_ stupid behaviour. "I'm sorry," he begged. "I'm really, really sorry."

Sherlock's eyes reddened at the same pace as John's sense of guilt accumulated.

"Sherlock," he tried again. "I swear I just…" how do you explain to a child that…you didn't mean to shout. You didn't mean to yell. You just…couldn't. You shouldn't have. But you certainly didn't mean it. "Sherlock…"

Watching the child rub at his mouth with the back of his hands.

His cries gaining volume.

Those little hands wiping aggressively around his cheeks. Pulling at his lower lip…

Which was when he saw it.

He saw something he'd missed…

"Sherlock," John continued now more than a little intrigued. 

It was just a glimpse. He wasn't even sure it _was_ what he thought it was but…

"Sherlock…let me see," John pleaded raising one hand to take hold of Sherlock's chin.

The little head jerked back and away.

He tried again.

Same reaction with perhaps a little more aggression.

"Sherlock," he said firmly. "Let me see," emphasising every word patiently.

Sherlock didn't look convinced and took his time to bring his little hands down.

Time which John used to take hold of the small chin with one hand, as the other large hand gently and slowly split those little lips open.

"Well look at that…" said John with what could only be described as a mystified tone. Moving his eyes from side to side. Back to front. "Is this…?" he paused to release those little lips but held onto Sherlock's chin and looked him in the eyes. "Is this what this is about? What's had you grumpy and intolerable? Is this why?" he questioned. 

Sherlock's wet track of tears slowly making their way down John's hand.

"Your teeth are starting to show!" he smiled genuinely happy.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!Hope you're all well :)  
> Here's the next chapter..see what you think!Thank you all as always! xx

**DAY 27**

Parenting books told him it would get better...

Parenting books lied to him!

John was trying anything and everything including a compulsory visit to a pediatric dentist courtesy of Mycroft.

But regardless of all that Sherlock was looking more and more miserable by the hour. And to be honest John wasn’t far behind.

His attempts had included;

*****

_Teething Gels_

_"No. No no no. Sher..." John grimaced as his arms dropped and released a sigh at the sight of thick drops of gel mixed with saliva dripping out of Sherlock's little mouth. "Sherlock," he whispered using, for lack of anything else in his immediacy, the end of his shirt to do some (quick) wiping._

_"Sherlock," letting the now wet end of his shirt drop. “Can you at least try to keep it in?”_

_This had been a common plea for the last few days or so. John wasn't sure if it was the taste or lack thereof of the gel or the sensation of it against his gums or the pain itself...or it was simply Sherlock's stubbornness. Whatever the reason was, try after try had the same result; a drooling and dripping wet child._

_Their moment however was interrupted by the doorbell…_

_“Don’t move,” he asked of Sherlock as he placed the opened tube on the tabletop of the highchair the boy was currently strapped in. “Be right back.”_

_Making his way quickly to the door and down the stairs two at a time he made it to the front; “Greg! Hi!”_

_“Hey! How you going?!”_

_“Good. Good. Um. Come in,” said John a little hurried and a little surprised. “What are you doing here?” he asked attempting his best not to sound rude._

_“Just came to see you and mini me. How’s he going?”_

_John took a deep breath; “Um. Fine. All good. Um, do you mind if we go upstairs? I’ve left him alone.”_

_“Yeah of course.”_

_Both men heading up two steps at a time._

_“Oi! Sherlock! Lestr…” John was cut off at the sight. “Jesus. Sherlock!” he whispered exasperated._

_Lestrade opting to bite down on his tongue at the sight of both Sherlock and the highchair top covered in gel. Completely covered in gel! Little hands exerting all their energy squeezing the tube as hard as they could…_

*****

And

*****

_Chilled Foods_

_“Ok,” he said more to himself as he cleared his throat and took a seat on the floor crossing his legs. “Let’s try this,” he continued as he dug through his small bag of half frozen goodies._

_With his little eyes partly closed and looking terribly gloomy as he sucked on his thumb, Sherlock was currently lying on his right side over the soft cotton blanket that John had laid out for them on the living room floor._

_Pulling out a chilled carrot stick that he’d carved into a more or less cylindrical shape, he presented it to Sherlock; “Here,” he whispered._

_Sherlock blinked a few times and stared at the offering for just as long, before his little hand slowly reached for it, a string of saliva following his thumb until it snapped halfway._

_Making it to the carrot stick, he didn’t take it from John however but simply hovered his little hand over the large fingers that held it._

_John tilted his head just a little, coming to look straight into those little eyes._

_God he looked awful._

_“Oh Sherlock,” he whispered as he turned his fingers in a way that he eventually had them gently intertwined with Sherlock’s little ones. The carrot stick caught between them._

_“You’ll be ok buddy,” he whispered. “I promise.”_

_A moment of silence followed before John slowly began to readjust himself until he was lying on his left on the floor facing his little man. Foreheads a mere few centimeters apart._

_And they watched each other. For a moment. Just watched._

_Until John gradually brought the carrot stick to Sherlock’s lips with the aid of his own little hand, which he still held._

_Those little lips parted allowing access and though a little hesitant, eventually Sherlock began sucking on it. Slowly. Tentatively. And then with a little more eagerness._

_And all was well until…_

_John noticed a deep red fluid mixing with the orange._

_“Shit,” he hissed as he quickly but gently pulled the carrot stick back out._

_A tooth had broken through._

_As did the tears…_

*****

And now, here they were this late at night on the one-seater sofa that had always belonged to Sherlock, attempting at 1.8ml of Ibuprofen.

Sherlock was sulky by nature but the bouts of fever, swollen and bleeding gums and the terribly disturbed nights were really out of his control. Unfortunately for the both of them, this meant Sherlock was caught in a constant state between fuming rage and painful tears.

“Sherlock. I swear mate, you are being your own worst enemy,” begged John trying for the umpteenth time to gently take hold of Sherlock’s little mouth…which was of course merely half the battle. “Sherlock please…” he begged.

Sherlock was clearly in pain. _A lot_ of pain! But he certainly wasn’t helping himself by refusing the measured syringe dosage as he squirmed and struggled in John’s arms. 

His eyes red and swollen as his cries sounded croakier and croakier.

John sighed exasperated as his arms dropped.

Putting the syringe down on the arm of the sofa, he readjusted Sherlock and did the only other thing he could think of; cuddle him tightly and securely in his arms.

“I know buddy,” he whispered. “I know.”

He didn’t realize it until he felt it but…he himself was getting teary. 

Maybe it was his exhaustion.

Or the fact that this little soul he loved so much was crying in what looked like agony right into his ear and he seemed physically incapable of doing anything that would make it go away.

He was desperate to find a way to ease the pain. Desperate to take on the pain himself so long as Sherlock didn’t have to live through it anymore.

And so standing up and pacing the room…one cried loudly…as the other did it silently.

*****

His eyes snapped open.

What was that?

Quickly locating the source with his eyes he let out an annoyed sigh.

The vibrations against the wooden table amplified by the silence in the flat. Lights flashing as they announced a caller whose name was too distant for him to make out.

Silent but on vibrate…great.

“Shh…shh...shh…” he whispered gently more into the air than directly into that little head resting quietly against his neck.

He could still feel a degree of heat radiating off of his soft white skin and the drooling had certainly not improved if the long stretch of wet running down his shirt was anything to go by. But at least…at least Sherlock had finally dozed off. And apparently so had he…but not for long.

Finally the vibrations came to an end much to John's relief.

A relief perhaps that came too soon when the persistent caller tried again setting off a whole new round of vibrations.

From the one-seater he could see his phone...so close and yet so far.

It had taken almost 2 hours to calm Sherlock’s cries and then another 45 minutes of quiet cuddling on the sofa for him to fall sleep! He was not about to get up from here and disturb the peace! Never!

Come hail or storm! Come cramps and full bladders! Come itches and phone calls! He wouldn't move! He wouldn't...

It stopped...again.

Only this time he glared at the phone daring the inopportune person on the other end to try again and see what happened!

And they did!

Which to be honest caught John a little by surprise...

Wow! Well someone was certainly desperate to speak to him.

Who was it and what the hell was so important?

Closing his eyes to gather some patience and strength he placed a firm and open palm on Sherlock's small back and wrapped his other arm so that Sherlock's bottom was safely over his forearm.

Shifting. Shuffling. Holding his breath and even his heart beats...he slowly, _very_ slowly made his way to a more sitting position and then began to balance himself up...

Sherlock's head shifted...

John froze.

Didn't. Even. Blink.

Sherlock's breathing evened. His little head loosened. His eyes remained shut and lips comfortably parted...

All was clear.

Continuing on his challenge John finally made it up onto his feet. 

Stopping to do a check…yes Sherlock was still asleep.

So sighing wearily he walked carefully towards the table and reached for his persistent phone. 

**WITHHELD(3)**

Another frustrated sigh escaped him; ‘Could have at least left a message,’ he thought exasperated…before the phone came to life for a fourth time in his hand; **WITHHELD**

Whispering; “Someone better be dying,” he answered; “Hello, John speaking.”

There was a tense silence.

“It’s me John,” stated a very somber and quiet voice.

“Harry!” genuinely surprised, “Hi…how are you?” a little hesitant.

Pause.

“I’m ok,” her voice quiet and measured.

Pause.

“Well this is…certainly a surprise,” he continued in the lowest voice he could master. “Is everything ok?

Pause.

“Harry…” he insisted softly.

Still nothing.

“Harry…”

“It’s mum John…” he breathing accelerating. “You have to come…please…” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that for some children teething is something that comes and goes without too many hitches but unfortunately little Sherlock over here is one of the few who actually struggles right through it. It is known to happen and is definitely not a very nice thing. And with regards to the dosage of Ibuprofen, I had to do some research because I really was unsure but assuming Sherlock is now just over the 8.1 kilos he was in the beginning few chapters the dosage sounded about right if you assume he's gained a little more weight since.
> 
> Sorry for the boring info hehe just wanted to clear those things up :) Other than that hopefully I'll be back around soon!!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :) So it's at this point that the story will start to move a little faster. The jump in time in the next two chapters or so will be quite large but I will fill in the gap so there is no confusion as what has happened. If you have any suggestions or criticism you know I always welcome it!! :) Thank you all! Enjoy xx

**DAY 33**

What was it about these situations that they always seemed to spiral so quickly?

*****

John had never been overly close to his mother, a little fact that was missed by most.

Their relationship was….‘civil’ if you had to give it a name. A few phones calls every couple of months and perhaps two to three visits a year. Nothing more.

He wasn’t sure what had caused the rift or at what point in his life…but somewhere along his timeline…they simply stopped…relating to each other. Maybe it was his decision to leave home half way through medical school. Or perhaps it was his decision to join the army. Or even his quiet and unassuming return home from the war.

Whatever the reason…it mattered little now.

*****

_“John!” a voice called him from the opposite end of the whitewashed corridor_

_Turning towards the voice he found Harry._

_With measured but firm steps he headed towards her._

_“Hey,” was his apprehensive greeting._

_“Hi,” she whispered as they shared an awkward and almost defaulted kiss on the cheek._

_He smelt it on her…but now was not the time. Instead; “Where is she?” he asked_

_Taking a short breath she tilted her head a little, indicating that he follow her._

_On his way to St Bart’s he had made contact with an old colleague who currently worked there and managed to get a short briefing about his mother’s state:_

_Two consecutive heart attacks._

_Currently critical but stable._

_Intensive care unit._

_With a medical history that went on for pages including 40 years of diabetes coupled with heart and kidney failure…unfortunately a heart attack was always an imminent possibility._

*****

_“Why is she here?” he asked quietly baffled_

_Harry frowned._

_“I mean why is she in this area of the hospital?” he whispered. “You know we can’t afford this.”_

_“Of course I know,” answered Harry a little bitter to say the least. But then quickly toned down; “I don’t actually know why. When I got called she was down in A and E. Once they had stabilized her they simply…brought her up here…”_

_John was silent and pensive for a moment before he took a sharp breath; “I have to make a quick call.”_

_Removing himself from the private room his mother was currently in, he walked out into the hallway and took out his phone._

_“Hello,” answered a gentle voice_

_“Hi missus Hudson,” he whispered. “It’s me.”_

_“Oh darling. How are you? How’s your mother?”_

_“Um…fine…fine for the moment,” he whispered as he took slow steps towards the waiting area. Another deep breath; “How is everything? How’s Sherlock?”_

_“We’re ok darling. Sherlock is still asleep.”_

_“Oh thank God,” whispered John genuinely relieved as he took a seat on one of the sofas in a corner of the room. “I am so sorry for doing this to you,” he begged. “Honestly if I’d had any other option…”_

_He was cut off; “Darling! We’re not going to do this again. I’ve told before I am more than happy to look after him.”_

_He had been desperate._

_He couldn’t bring Sherlock with him and though it pained him to no end putting him down on their bed and leaving him there…sometimes these things just had to be done._

_Luckily for him missus Hudson had been awake all along. Turns out it is difficult to sleep through the cries that were coming from 221B._

_“I’m really hoping and praying he’ll sleep through the night,” he added._

_“Even if he wakes, we’ll be ok,” she tried to reassure him._

_He took his time but; “Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”_

_“You focus on your mother dear. If anything happens here I’ll call you immediately.”_

*****

_Opening his text messages he typed two simple words:_

_‘Thank you’_

_And hit send._

_The response:_

_‘My best wishes to your mother. MH’_

*****

_John’s mother passed away the following day._

*****

The funeral was delicate. Subtle. Beautiful. And John could not have been more grateful.

Needless to say the tall figure in the tailored black suit, with his ever-present umbrella and tight-lipped nature who stood at a distance from the small crowd gathered at the burial grounds was responsible for all this.

John had been hesitant to bring Sherlock with him to the funeral. Not only had he managed to keep Sherlock more or less a secret from his sister. But adding to that Sherlock was still not in the best of moods and still quite feverish to say the least…

But despite all that…despite his apprehension and the effort it took to get Sherlock bathed and fed…there seemed to be something…almost _contained_ about him today. As if he knew and understood that today…today was not about him. Today was about John and pain of his loss.

So in his little tailored black outfit delivered the previous day, Sherlock had sat quietly and patiently on John’s lap throughout the service. John’s fingers every now and then meriting a bite from his itching mouth which they had both found in previous nights worked like a charm for Sherlock’s little gums.

*****

As all the guests made their way to a small reception area inside, John had instead made his way in the opposite direction.

Coming to a stop next to the man, he turned until they both faced the same direction and looked into the same distance.

“Any news?”

“None I’m afraid.”

Silence prevailed. Enough that John slowly came to lower his head until his lips were pressed against the top of Sherlock’s head. It wasn’t a kiss. It was simply a place to rest.

*****

“Can I hold him?” she asked offering her hands out towards Sherlock.

John shifted Sherlock in his arms. His muscles beginning to protest under the weight.

With Mycroft gone, he had made his way back to the group of guests where he was soon cornered and interrogated by Harry.

“You know what, he…” John began. “He hasn’t been feeling all that great. In fact I…I don’t think we’ll be staying much longer to be honest.”

Harry dropped her hands looking in all honesty a little hurt, which in turn hurt John. He didn’t mean to treat her like this it’s just…

“You still haven’t told me who he is,” she continued.

“I have…I don’t know…custody of him if you wish,” he lied.

“But whose is he?”

John was biting his tongue; “He’s…Oh my God!!” he jerked instinctively.

“Whoa…” she reached towards Sherlock out of reflex.

With no sign of what was to happen Sherlock had thrown up the very little he’d had for breakfast over John’s shoulder where his little head had been resting.

*****

**DAY 40**

"Oh my God," she whispered with a sad smile. "Do you remember this?"

John looked up from the clothes he was folding on the bed.

His eyes gained a soft glow as he set them on the object being offered to him.

"Wow," he whispered taking it in his hands. "I thought mum had thrown this out years ago."

"Are you kidding? I think we all grew attached to that thing!" she laughed gently. " _You_ certainly couldn't live without it."

John looked at it with such melancholy. God it brought back so many memories in him. "He was my friend," he whispered looking straight at those large dark brown eyes.

Harry made her way over to him and took the stuffed, light brown floppy bunny from his hands.

"He was kinda of cute wasn't he?"

"What do you mean 'was'? He still is!" he joked taking the dog back. "Hasn't changed a bit," he said aiming the puppy's face towards her.

"Oi! Hamish!" he said getting Sherlock's attention. "Look!" presenting the withered and floppy bunny.

Sherlock took in the stuffed toy with cautious curiosity. He was sitting at the top end of the bed surrounded by (and every now and then climbing over) cushions, clothing, papers and books that Harry and John were riffling through and organizing.

Having made up his mind about the bunny, Sherlock looked back down and continued his attempt at turning the pages of a novel he'd climbed over several others to get to.

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly and with one last look at the bunny he put it down on the bed giving it no further thought…for the moment...

*****

"So? Is it staying or is it going?" she asked balancing a box against her hip with one arm and holding the bunny up with the other. "Hamish didn't look too interested."

Turning from the papers he had finally classified as 'important' and was currently storing away, John looked at the bunny with that same torn feeling.

"Um..." he really did hesitate. Taking several long breaths; "Just um..." he couldn't make up his mind as he continued to stare at those loose ears and round tail. And what felt like out of frustration his answer finally came; "Just throw it out.”

*****

Packing Sherlock nice and tight into the car seat of the vehicle provided by Mycroft, John took one last look at the house that he had lived in all his childhood.

He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt.

There were too many memories. Just too many.

And though neither Harry nor he had any intentions of selling the house for the moment…neither had any intentions of returning to it either.

And just as he was about to take his own seat in the car…it caught his eye.

That bunny.

His childhood friend.

Those big eyes watching him from the cardboard box where he’d been discarded and left on the sidewalk as trash.

And it hurt him. It really did.

So much so that his eyes began to burn and blur.

Blinking a few times he looked back into the vehicle where Sherlock sat with a distant look in his eyes paying no attention to John whatsoever.

So in a split second moment John raced back to the box and picking up the bunny he returned to the vehicle and closed the door behind him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're all doing well :)  
> I know that my updates have slowed down a lot and I also conscious (and upset) that my writing has deteriorated a lot. I know it in me that it has. I don't know if it's fair to blame it on personal issues or simply the fact that perhaps I am not half as good as I'd like to be. Regardless if you're all willing to continue giving me a chance I know that I need to lift my game a lot. I thank you as always for your support and feedback. Thank you so very much as always!! :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always I will try desperately to update very soon :) xx

**DAY 79**

John woke up with a startle. 

In the darkened room his eyes remained partly open feeling dazed and unsure. He lay in silence for a moment feeling his eyes slowly drift close again…

Until…yes there it was again; the loud roar of thunder outside.

Blinking himself into alertness he remained still listening as soft continuous drops began to make contact with the glass window. Drops that soon however gained speed and strength, pelting the glass with much greater force until it was a downpour.

A midsummer storm. 

A _loud_ midsummer storm.

He’d always found something comforting about them. They were refreshing. They were…cleansing.

God knew they’d needed it. The last couple of weeks had been sweltering hot. Enough that he’d opted to wander around the flat topless with Sherlock in much the same state…and even less.

Sadly for Sherlock however, the combination between the fevers brought on by his teething and the intense weather that followed them around, was beginning to irritate his skin to the point that nappies had soon been abandoned in favour of cloth diapers. Yes it meant more washing for John…but sacrifices must be made.

Oh…there it was again!

The room lit up momentarily as lighting announced the arrival of another reverberating thunder. So strong was it, that it shook the seemingly fragile walls of the flat and threatened to shake the glass from the windows out of their hold.

It was certainly a little disquieting even for an adult, but the calm storms at night brought to John, soon had him relaxing back into the mattress.

Yet something felt not quite right…

He shifted from his right side onto his back…and waited patiently and silently. Until another lighting strike provided him with what he was looking for; a little figure sitting up in bed.

“Sherlock?” he whispered lifting himself up onto one elbow just in time to see that little body shudder in time with another violent thunder. His little eyes wide open and clearly frightened.

Sitting up straighter so he was facing Sherlock but avoiding to hover directly over him, he repeated in another whisper taking notice of the bunny currently clutched tightly in little hands; “Sherlock,” suddenly himself jerking at the impact of another thunder.

It was when he looked towards the window as a reflex of the lighting that his eyes began to drift around the room. And somehow soon found himself…feeling cold. Like there was too much space in this room. And too much room between them.

So looking over at the small silhouette currently looking desperate to hold his own, and not let his guard down, John made a quick second decision; “I’ve got an idea.”

Shuffling just enough to get his balance, he lifted Sherlock who came attached with the bunny and positioned him against his chest held by one arm. Using his other hand he took the two large pillows and the smaller one that took up residence on their bed and made his way out of the room.

*****

He had never done this. Not even as a child. But he would have loved for someone to have taken the time and effort to make him or at least _help him_ make one.

A place to feel safe and secure, when everything around you frightened you;

A shelter.

Perhaps it was because his father had never been around enough. Or perhaps because his mother had never been overly close. Or even perhaps because his sister had always had too much on her mind to care. Whatever the reason had been…he was going to fulfil a childhood dream…perhaps for the both of them.

So keeping Sherlock against his chest at all times and in the dim light of a single lamp over the desk, he took two chairs from the dining table, carrying one after the other and brought them into the living room placing one at each end of the couch. He then pulled out the flannelettes from Sherlock’s ‘retreat’ behind the couch and laid them out unevenly on floor in between the two chairs and over the rug on the floor that was permanently there. The three pillows he’d brought with him followed and were thrown just as messily on top of his soft creation. Now he just needed a cover. A tent. So heading back to what now felt like an icy bedroom, he pulled the bed sheet off without a thought and took it with him back into the living room. Hanging it over the chairs and aided by the arms of the sofa…he made them a little nest.

It might have seemed silly. Childish for the two of them really. But something in John was vibrating with excitement. And he hoped against all that Sherlock would find something in the least bit soothing in this odd structure of his.

So bringing the lamp with him, he balanced Sherlock in his arms as he sneaked under the sheet that draped over the two chairs as a cover. It took a bit of shuffling and sorting but eventually he was lying on his side with Sherlock nicely _seated_ between him and the sofa having refused John’s attempts at bringing him back into a lying position.

“What do you think?” he whispered propped up on one elbow.

The rain still punishing the outside of the building.

“I think it’s pretty neat,” he confessed.

Still no reaction. Just as pair of beautiful eyes watching him intently as they always did. _Reading_ him intently as they always did.

Bunny still clutched for dear life between those chubby small hands.

Oh the bunny. What a controversial topic that had been in this household; “I thought you didn’t like him,” John finally teased as he looked down at the bunny and then back up at Sherlock.

*****

_He wasn’t sure what to do with him or where to put him for that matter. Sherlock’s clear disinterest earlier today had been a little disappointing and…well yes perhaps a little hurtful. This bunny had been his sole companion. His best friend. Sometimes…his only friend. And now the bunny was home with him again._

_He’d considered just putting him away back into a cupboard or a box somewhere to gather dust again but…no. That somehow didn’t feel right._

_So instead, he gave it a much needed wash and placed him seated on top of his bedside table just next to his new lamp…a quick replacement delivered to him the same day his previous lamp had taken a fall off the edge…with no help from Sherlock of course._

_And there he remained._

*****

_He was feeling particularly melancholic tonight._

_It was quiet and Sherlock had drifted off to sleep about an hour ago…draped over his chest. He had every intention of shifting him off and onto his side of the bed…but tonight the weight of the child felt…comfortable and warm. His little body rising and falling against John’s hand on his back._

_Turning his head to the side he caught sight of the bunny. Lifting the hand that traced the small back he reached for the bunny and held it up above Sherlock. He examined it in the soft light provided by the lamp. The floppy ears falling over its eyes. Long legs hanging loose in the air._

_He didn’t know where it had come from or who had given it to him…but that matters little to a child when he has found the one thing that belongs to him and he can hold onto for dear life._

_He’d never named it. It was simply ‘bunny’._

_He turned the animal over in his hand and then over again. Memories drifting past his eyes one after the other. None of them of any grave importance. Just images…moments where bunny had been present._

_And he began to wonder too…if Sherlock had ever had one?_

_A stuffed toy that could be his friend. A safety net in times of need._

*****

**DAY 80**

Scratching the itch along his jawline, John slowly came to wake. Clearing his throat softly he had a second of disorientation until it finally dawned on him.

The thunderstorm. The shelter. The bunny…

With the sun back out, the room was beginning to feel its usual warm again. So rubbing his eyes as he lay on his back, he adjusted enough to find his companion.

He wasn’t there.

John was certainly awake now!

“Shit!” he hissed halfway between panic and frustration; “Why aren’t you ever…” as he quickly turned on all fours and lifted the sheet that covered their little tent; “…where I leave you?…Oh,” coming to a stop halfway out. “Good morning.”

“Good morning John.”

Making his way out of this slightly pedestrian shelter with as much dignity as possible; “Is everything alright?”

“Of course. John. I only came to see my baby brother,” stated Mycroft.

The disappearing act that was Sherlock, looked strangely comfortable sitting on Mycroft’s left leg. Little legs dangling on either side of his big brother’s one. Bunny held tight in one hand. Thumb of the other bitten down within his little lips.

“I see you had an eventful night,” suggested Mycroft.

Turning his head towards his creation and then returning back to Mycroft; “Uh…yeah,” scratching the back of his neck; “Yeah. A bit.”

Mycroft fixed his eyes on the sheets and remained silent. Long enough that John’s eyes began to wander awkwardly; “Um…” he began; “Did you want…something to drink?”

The silence prevailed. 

Those eyes still fixed. Breathing even and quiet. Until he slowly blinked and aimed them at Sherlock.

And with a whisper made a very simple statement;

“He’s always been afraid of thunderstorms.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I hope you're all well :)  
> Thank you so much for your incredible patience with me! Really. Thank you!  
> It seems I'm always full of excuses but to be honest it's been a less than optimal month (unfortunately).  
> But I'm back and to be honest writing is such a beautiful distraction for me that I'm glad it's the only thing I've been doing lately. So here we are! The next chapter! :) xx

**DAY 115**

The days were quickly changing. And winter was just around the corner.

The temperature was now down to a reasonable warmth and the sun was beginning to set much earlier. 

Despite that however, most days were still relatively sunny and for a change actually comfortable. So with nothing else planned on this particularly lazy Sunday morning and feeling a little tired of pacing the flat, John had a thought. Something they might both enjoy… _he hoped_.

*****

But before any of those thoughts materialized Sherlock was in desperate need of a wash!

Despite the cooling weather and Sherlock’s teething-induced fevers settling for the most part, his rashes continued to be a worry along with some terrible night sweating John had come to notice. It was a confusing set of elements that John wasn’t entirely sure what to attribute to anymore.

So naked on the change table Sherlock’s arms struggled against John to try and sit up grunting every now and then in his attempts.

“Sherlock,” John whispered distractedly using an open palm against the small chest to try and keep him down and cringed at the sight. The fair and delicate skin now an angry red in and around his genitals and inner thighs. 

“What the…” he muttered on closer inspection; “Where did you get…this bruise?” taking in the deep purple and black round stain on the rear of his left thigh just where it met his little bum. 

With a very long sigh; “God…” drifting into silence as his hand came to rest against the edge of the change table despaired and frustrated, little legs lying flat and lifeless.

Deep in thought, John stood still for a moment before blinking and taking a deep breath. Moving a desperate Sherlock from the table to the small bathtub brought in for his own use, John couldn’t help notice with a small smile how the fine hairs on those little arms stood on end at the sudden contact of warm water to his skin.

Looking away for all of a second to retrieve Sherlock’s shampoo and soap he turned to find Sherlock desperately grabbing at the red patches on his skin. Scratching and pinching as best he could.

“Hey. Hey,” John immediately dipped his hands into the water to remove those smaller ones from doing any more damage. “Don’t. Don’t. Sherlock,” he said sternly trying to get Sherlock’s tightly shut eyes to open up and look at him. “Sherlock,” he asked again. No response. His shoulders dropping; “Sherlock…” he whispered.

*****

The bath was certainly a chain of events that John worked his way through as best he could and after applying another round of Bepanthol around the irritated area, a white singlet and grey leggings clad Sherlock was seated on the living room floor to do as he pleased…for a little while at least. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen; “Hey! How are you?” he asked holding the phone against his ear with one hand as he searched the kitchen pantry.

“Oh hey! I’m alright,” was her reply. “How are you?”

“Yeah not too bad,” taking out a can of baked beans and turning it in his hand. “Hey um, are you doing anything today?”

“Um no. Not really. Why?”

“It’s just um…” returning the can to the pantry and thinking a little more carefully about his phrasing. “I was thinking of…taking Hamish to the park and having lunch there. It’s a nice day out and I figured…if you’re not busy you…might want to come…with us?” he hesitated.

She didn’t hesitate; “I’d love to!”

He smiled; “Great! Good. So um, we’ll probably be leaving in about an hour or so. Did you want us to come by yours and head from there or…?”

“Oh nah. I can meet you at the park. What do you want me bring?”

“Um…maybe dessert?”

“Sure!”

“Great! We’ll see you soon!”

“Yeah!”

And like that it was set. They were going on a picnic!

*****

Sherlock was not adverse to the outdoors. The adult self was known for taking walks in and around parks every now and then when he wasn’t chasing criminals through them. John had been fortunate enough to accompany him many a times on these silent strolls. And they were nice. Peaceful even. An unspoken habit in which Sherlock led and John mostly followed. But which they both enjoyed.

Today was of course quite different.

*****

Pulling over his right shoulder a newly restocked nappy bag and a balanced Sherlock against his hip, he used his other hand to carry the packed picnic basket.

Queen Mary’s Garden and its surrounding was not far at all from Baker Street so the walk down took John and Sherlock a mere 15 minutes at a slow pace. 

Upon reaching it he wandered around searching for the perfect spot. He was looking for something shaded but central. Something not too isolated but a fair distance from any playground areas…for Sherlock’s sake more than anything.

And after walking and turning and walking back again, he thought found it. 

Shaded under a tall tree, long branches waving above them and being partly tucked away within a semicircle flower bed, it was a perfect view to match.

*****

“Hello you two!” he heard someone call.

Turning his head left; “Hey! You found us!”

“Yeah,” she whispered leaning down to kiss John on the cheek meeting him half way.

He had laid out a mat on the ground and was currently sitting with his legs crossed. Sherlock, in a similar position a few centimeters from John, watched the exchange silently.

“Hey sweetheart!” she aimed at Sherlock with a small wave. “How are you?”

Sherlock simply stared at her with wide eyes…much to John’s surprise.

But in the chance that there was some delayed overreaction in the horizon, John jumped in and instead offered; “Have a seat,” shifting just a little as a way of prompt.

“Thanks!” she smiled getting as comfortable as she could in her floral singlet and jeans. “Oh this is perfect!” she smiled taking in the sight and letting out a long sigh before; “I brought some pavlova with mixed berries!” she announced taking the round white foamy dessert out from the bag she had with her. Turning to look at John and holding his gaze steady for a moment she whispered with a smile; “Your favorite.”

*****

“What’s he staring at?” she whispered with a curious smile.

With the sun now at its peak, the food had been consumed and they were now left to simply enjoy the moment. 

John had shuffled more towards Sherlock’s left with his legs out in front of him, whilst Sarah who was to Sherlock’s right, had instead completely stretched out.

Sherlock was sitting more or less in the same spot he had been from the start provided his back was to John and Sarah and much further forward on the mat, almost at the end of it and more onto the grass in fact. 

It was his stillness that had suddenly brought the attention back to him from both adults.

Propping herself a little further up on her elbow she looked in the same general direction Sherlock’s eyes seemed to be aimed at.

John, who had been surreptitiously watching Sherlock’s every move despite his other doings, knew exactly what Sherlock had locked his eyes on. 

He had spotted it too. 

But he wasn’t about to break that spell. He simply let the question linger as his eyes met the same thing that had Sherlock hypnotized...

The buzzing flight of a bee.

And for a moment...they remained like that. In silence. All three...

Sherlock captivated by the bee.

John enthralled by Sherlock.

Sarah curious by their nature...until, and with distant eyes, she questioned; “John. How old is Hamish?”

*****

_He headed to their bedroom._

_Upon returning he had in his hands a _rather large_ file._

_So taking a seat at the table he began to flip through the pages, first quickly then slowing down. He was looking for something in particular which he quickly found in this disturbingly perfectly categorized folder._

_"Huh…" he whispered. "Well wasn't that a miscalculation on my part…"_

_He hadn't even given the folder a second look when it was given to him. Just stored it away thinking he had no use for anything in there. And he was mostly right…but still…perhaps he should have at least glanced through it._

_It was page after page after page of results and discussions following their extensive and intrusive appointments with Sherlock's medical team._

_Each specialist had put together a summary of findings and recommendations. Each sounding to John a little more delusional than the next but there were facts in there that he could actually make use of such as; Sherlock's actual age!_

_He'd spent the last few weeks assuming Sherlock was roughly 6 months and with everything else that had happened had given it no further thought…that was until this morning…when in Sarah’s presence Sherlock’s teeth made an appearance!_

_And well…now he knew…_

_So quickly working forwards from the day these results were produced…_

*****

“He’ll be 11 months in a week,” was his absentminded response.

She let the information sink in before she lowered a pair of barely concealed worried eyes, first looking to the blanket then back up towards John and finally speaking up...or rather _down_ ; “John?” she whispered getting his attention once more.

“Yeah?” his eyes still set.

She hesitated for all of a second as she turned her eyes to those black curls ahead of her; “How is Hamish?”

John immediately turned his head towards her, frowning in genuine confusion; “I’m sorry?”

Sarah took in his bewilderment with a gentle smile; “I mean...how is he progressing? How is he getting along?”

John, frown still in place, turned his head to Sherlock and then back to her; “Fine. Fine,” he paused; “I mean I...I don’t know what you mean?”

“Oh I just...” her turn to pause; “I don’t know, I mean...is he reaching his milestones? Is he...developing...at the right stages...” she let the self-explanatory sentence fade.

If he wasn’t before, now John _really_ was taken aback. Where was this going?

“Yeah...” he continued now in a much more speculative tone. “Yeah he’s...fine. Why?”

“Oh nah I’m just...” avoiding his eyes for a second before returning to them. What she found in them however drove her to sit up a little straighter. “I don’t know John, I...” pausing to rethink before; “John, unless you move him yourself, he won’t. In fact he hasn’t moved in almost an hour. Hasn’t even made a sound.”

John felt his heart palpitate. His jaw clenched.

“He’s fine,” he stated very much on guard. His tone and manner evidently stiffening. “He’s fine.”

The silence between them was almost agonizing. Her eyes finding their way back to Sherlock unable to bear John’s stinging glare. And was relieved as his eyes eventually left her and finally drifted back to the topic of their conversation.

Yet feeling a wave of guilt she felt the need to whisper; “I’m sorry.”

It was a short lived silence however as she made a surprised sound and an even more surprising lunge towards Sherlock. Her right hand making waves and shooing away a bee. The bee.

In the suddenness of it all Sherlock had little time do much else but jolt in his spot and blink in surprise. His little eyes opening wide looking almost panicked as they followed the flight of the bee.

And if only one person in his world could see the sudden sadness and melancholy engraved deep into those beautiful young eyes...it was John.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! :)  
> Thank you for your always lovely comments!  
> So here's the next chapter. I admit it is a rather long one but to be honest even though I sat down and tried to edit out parts several times...I felt like I couldn't.  
> As always I hope you enjoy and I'm already working on the next one :)  
> Thank you!!! :)

**DAY 116**

They say it’s all fun and games until…

*****

This was his second night of vigil.

John had spent many a nights awake in a previous life. From hospital rounds to army patrols. And in yet another strange parallel in his life here he was again with an acute sense to watch and protect.

Lying in the same position for over an hour now in the dim and stillness of their room, his eyes had locked onto the little figure that was Sherlock. The rise and fall of that small chest. His ears tuned into every minute sound from that body.

*****

_Having put away all their picnic gear; rubbish thrown away and leftovers packed into the fridge, John was now busy with dinner cutting vegetables at the kitchen table._

_And it was there that a soft grunt caught his ear._

_Looking to his right he found Sherlock still sitting where he’d left him; in the middle of the living room on his mat. Legs out in front and a little torso slightly hunched over itself remaining mostly still despite having John’s phone to entertain himself with._

_Turning his attention back to the potatoes he continued until he heard another grunt, this time a little louder._

_It was Sherlock making them that much was clear._

_John dismissed it adding; “did you find something interesting?” as he continued with his task._

_A silence followed filled only by the background noise of the television…when it was broken by a soft whimper._

_Not bothering to look up John stated; “I’m right here Sherlock. I know you can see me.”_

_The whimper stopped for half a second before it returned a little louder and little more demanding._

_“Sherlock, if I find you’ve done something to my phone,” he said as he walked over to the stove._

_It was there that after a beat John’s head shot up from his doings as his shoulders slumped and he let out a deflated sigh._

_There it was._

_Three perfectly clear sneezes back to back followed by a whimper so sad and miserable it took all of John not join him in it._

_Closing his eyes for a split second he turned his head in Sherlock’s direction to find him red eyed, lips trembling and the additional trickle making its way out of his left nostril and onto his upper lip._

_“You have got to be kidding me,” he whispered hopeless. “Of course you did,” sighed John as he left his doings and began to make his way to Sherlock. “Of course you would get sick.”_

_Reaching Sherlock he picked him up watching his brimming tears give way down those chubby and flushed cheeks. “Ok. Oh God. You’re burning up,” frowning as he held Sherlock tight to his chest, one hand firmly cupping his head._

_Sherlock was a miserable patient at the best of times. John was about to discover the child was not much better as those tears gained some volume._

_“Shh. Shh. Shh. Shh.”_

_Walking into the kitchen he turned the stove off knowing there would be no chance to finish dinner now. He then made his way into the bathroom to see if there was anything in there remotely adequate for a child to take. Turns out no. The one time he’d expected Mycroft to think ahead…_

_Sighing he walked out tightening his grip on Sherlock; “I know you feel miserable Sherlock. I know,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”_

_Though he hated doing this to Mrs Hudson because she really didn’t need it...he had to get a few things from the pharmacy._

_Heading down the stairs a little reluctant he knocked on her door._

_“Oh dear. What’s the matter?” the lady immediately on alert at the sight that greeted her._

_“Sherlock’s gotten himself a bit sick,” he whispered looking down and searching that gloomy face._

_“Oh you poor darling,” was her whisper as she placed her hand softly over Sherlock’s back. He in turn gripped tighter onto John’s shirt and hid his face from view resting his forehead against John’s chest._

_John shook his head disapprovingly; “Sherlock stop been a baby. Come on.” His voice was firm but with strong undertones of concern, worry and a deep gentleness._

_“I needed to get a couple of things from the pharmacy but I really shouldn’t leave him alone and I probably shouldn’t take him out like this either.”_

_Mrs Hudson was already ahead of him taking a cardigan that was hanging on her sofa and grabbing her wallet._

_“You just tell me what you need,” she said as she made her way past him and into the foyer._

_“Um just some children’s paracetamol or something along those lines. Can you just give me a second? I’ll grab my wallet from upstairs.”_

_“Don’t be silly dear. Don’t be silly. When I come back I’ll also make you something natural. It’ll be much better than all that stuff…I’ll be back!” she finished as she opened the front door and headed off._

_“Thank you,” he added from the door before closing it._

_Slowly making his way back upstairs he sat on the couch with Sherlock still nicely tucked in his arms…and simply held him there._

_And like that the minutes went by in relative silence._

_Every once in a while a whimper or a grunt would escape Sherlock. Or his little head would move from side to side rubbing his face against John’s chest. A few times he even lifted that little head up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrists indicating his irritation._

_And all along, John simply observed him._

_Yes he was annoyed that these things would only happen to him. And yes he could easily blame Sherlock for this entire mess they were living through. But the reality was...he loved this. He loved looking after Sherlock. It’s what he did. It’s what his life had been about since the day they met. And to him this was good. More than good in fact. It was perfect...even if it meant wiping a snotty nose with the end of his own sleeve._

*****

Mycroft, accompanied by Professor Thomas Morrison, had made an appearance earlier that day leaving John with several prescriptions. Of the disturbing six prescriptions he was left with, John merely made use of two being frankly uncomfortable with the amount of chemicals they wanted him to feed into Sherlock.

However and rather unfortunately by evening Sherlock’s symptoms had fully developed.

Which is how John now found himself walking in silent anxiety towards the bathroom with Sherlock at 3:16 in the morning.

Sherlock had woken a few minutes ago, his face a hot red and panicked as his small and delicate lungs gave way coughing almost desperately.

“It’s alright buddy. It’s alright,” John whispered into his curls as he closed the door behind them.

With Sherlock balanced against him, John bent over as best he could to plug the bathtub and turning the hot water on he let it fill watching as the room quickly become humid and foggy.

“Ok,” he tried to soothe as he took a seat on the ledge of the tub. “It’s ok buddy.”

Leaning his back against the wall that met with the tub he adjusted a still coughing Sherlock so that his little back and chest were not resting against anything. He supported him with one arm around his tummy so he remained mostly in an up right position and his little legs dangled towards the tub.

And rubbing his back very gently he continued; “There you go. There you go. Just breathe,” he whispered; “Just breathe.”

John knew this was common with every cold. He also knew this method would eventually help. However the look of terror in those eyes as those little lungs struggled to catch breath…it was truly distressing for them both.

In silence his hand moved in small circles as he listened to that insistent cough loose strength second by second. But his hand continued…until it came to a sudden stop. 

Lowering his head a little to get a closer look; “Sherlock…” he whispered. “Where on earth are you getting these bruises? Jesus!”

Pulling the collar on Sherlock’s tee a little further down he took in the sight of two more bruises; one just at the base of his little head and the other towards his right shoulder. But it didn’t end there. As he pulled on the collar just that little bit more and took a look down his back…he counted a further three and rather large bruises spread out on that pale baby skin.

With a deep and serious frown, he released the collar…and held Sherlock just that little bit tighter against him.

*****

**DAY 122**

Despite Sherlock looking much better than in previous days, John was still very much heedful. That being said things had more or less settled back to norm…well, within the boys’ parameters.

And as lunchtime rolled around the order of the day was: pumpkin soup with toast.

Having strapped Sherlock into his highchair, John went back to the kitchen counter to add the final touches on both the large and the small bowls of soup. 

“Here we go,” he announced turning back to Sherlock….“Oh my God,” he whispered rattled as he put the bowls back down and rushed back to him.

The sight was confronting…as happens when a child is found covered in his own blood.

Flowing down from his little nose Sherlock was dripping in the scarlet red that dripped over his mouth and onto the bib. His little hands tainted too as he had aimed for his nose and mouth with them.

With the end of his own sleeves John quickly wiped most of the blood in the immediate area before pinching Sherlock’s nose and holding. Sherlock’s discomfort made obvious as he began struggling and fighting John. But he held tight and instead walked behind Sherlock restraining both little arms by wrapping his free arm around him. 

“I know. I know. Sherlock. I know,” he said calmly into Sherlock ear. “Just relax buddy. It’s fine. Just relax.”

He counted in his head the approximate amount of time he needed and then slowly, slowly, released his hold on Sherlock’s nose who was struggling a little to breathe through his mouth. 

It hadn’t stopped.

So he returned his pinch to that little nose.

“Sherlock. Sherlock,” he whispered trying to get his attention as Sherlock continued to battle John. “Sherlock. Listen to me. Listen to me,” he paused waiting for him to do as he was asked. “You’re ok. You’re ok. Sherlock...you’re ok. The more you fight it, the worst it’ll get...it’s ok,” he whispered. “It’s ok.”

Feeling Sherlock begin to relax into his arm, he loosened his grip on him just enough so he could move his hand and place an open palm over Sherlock’s little chest. Firmly but gently.

John swallowed hard watching Sherlock’s trembling little red-stained hands tug and grip at his big fingers gently. Just gently. 

He wasn’t pushing John away. 

He was looking for him.

John will tell you there are many things he does not wish to witness again…and Sherlock trembling with little hands covered in his own blood…was one of them.

*****

“Doctor!” asked Clara a little breathless as she tried to catch up to the Doctor. “What are we doing here?”

The man himself took determined and brisk steps down the bleach white corridor. Screwdriver held tight in hand. His gaze livid. Unforgiving.

“Doctor!” Clara demanded a little louder. “Doctor!”

Reaching a pair of double doors he pointed the screwdriver to the security card access to one side and watched the doors part on command.

His laser eyes immediately spotting what he was after and strong, long strides got him there in no time.

Upon the Doctor’s approach the person he was aiming for had enough time to turn and quickly standing in panic take on a defensive stance by placing the chair between himself and the Doctor.

Undeterred, the Doctor instead placed his hands on the chair moving it to one side with surprising force and came to stand within centimeters of the man. 

A breath away. 

Staring him down.

His voice barely a whisper but in a tone so threatening it seem to ripple and send shivers through the room; “You’re going to tell me right now. Exactly. What is going on!” 

The man seemed capable of little else but stare at the Doctor dumbfounded and agitated.

And the Doctor was in no mood; “TELL ME!” he demanded.

The man hesitated once more but after a few short and urgent breaths he blinked towards Clara and then back towards the Doctor. The pause seemingly gave him strength because the man found his voice…and rather loudly.

“You already know!” he stated frankly. Adding; “I’m working as fast as I can ok? But I need time! These things…need time!”

He seemed to plead for understanding and yet continued with some force to his voice; “You don’t understand…”

“DO I NOT?” roared the Doctor rendering the man silent.

The man’s heart palpitated as his hands sweated in tight fists.

And taking just that inch of a step closer to the man; “I’ve given you enough time to sort this out Leonard. But things have gone far enough and now…I’m taking over.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!I'm here :) Hope you're all doing well.  
> So here's the next chapter...not sure what to say about it and I'm less sure of what you'll think about it...let me know!  
> Thank you all as always! Enjoy :) xx

**DAY 140**

“What’s this?”

Sitting behind her desk at the clinic she took the offering from his extended hand.

“It’s an invitation,” he replied flatly, eyes unemotional as he watched her open the white envelope. “It’s very short notice so if you can’t make it that’s fine,” his tone falling dead as he turned, leaving her to read the details on the animal printed baby blue paper.

“John,” she whispered folding the paper between her fingers.

He walked the steps it took him to get back to the door.

“John,” she insisted.

His hand reached for the doorknob.

“John,” she begged.

His hand gripped the doorknob but didn’t turn it.

She’d gotten his attention; “John,” pausing to let it sink; “What’s going on?” she asked softly.

He kept his back to her. The tension in him palpable as his shoulder blades flexed under his light cardigan.

“John…” she echoed standing from her chair and taking cautious steps towards him.

But she didn’t move far, stopping as she watched him release the doorknob and slowly turn to face her.

Her worry turning to anguish at the sight of him.

“John…you can’t ignore this...”

He blinked slowly in disbelief and…hurt.

Insulted really!

How could she possibly imagine…

How could she even think that…

That he was ‘ignoring’ this? How dare she…accuse him of that?

And yet…despite his instinct to defend himself, he simply didn’t have it in him to stop and have this argument with her. Not now. He had done what he’d come here to do and now…he was leaving.

Clearing his throat as he turned his eyes towards the window, he swallowed the words he _really_ meant to say and instead looked back at her; “I know how much you love Hamish. Thought you might like to be present.”

His attempt to turn and leave was cut dead as she gripped his arm; “John,” she pleaded; “As a doctor you can’t…”

“Sarah!” he stopped her short. His voice a stern that met with broken. Struggling through a deep breath; “It’s his birthday…and I’m going to…” but was forced to pause. The air quickly running out of his lungs as his jaw tightened and his breathing sounded taut; “I’m gonna make this…the best first birthday. Ok?” His voice raw. His eyes glazed. “Because he deserves it.” He swallowed. “Because he’s my boy and he deserves it. I just ask that…that you come…” he shrugged; “…if you can…” his words fading into the air as his eyes met with the ground.

*****

_“Nice to see you again.”_

_Despite his smile John wished he could say the same as he shook Professor Morrison’s hand._

_It was nothing personal let that be clear. The professor standing before him had been kind enough despite John’s slightly brittle attitude towards him._

_No. John’s uneasiness was a result of the current situation and the reason as to why he found himself meeting with the man again…_

_And so soon…_

_“Mr. Holmes elder has debriefed me about the situation. He’ll be here shortly,” John was informed._

_“Thank you,” John’s tone a little strained. “And thank you for making time for us in such short notice.”_

_The man shook his head with a gentle smile; “Mr. Sherlock Holmes is my priority now Dr. Watson,” his voice honest._

_The room was like every other clinical room John had ever been in and as there was no need for preliminaries both men walked straight to the examination table._

_“Does he still have a fever?” asked the professor as John peeled a very quiet Sherlock off of him and placed him lying on the bed. Those little arms and legs feeling a little too weak for John’s liking._

_“No. No. I...” placing his hand gently over Sherlock’s little forehead. “I managed to bring it down,” running that hand back and over those curls watching them flatten out but quickly bounce back._

_All the while Sherlock slowly curled into the hand and faced John._

_“How long ago did all this start?” asked professor Morrison watching the interaction between the two boys._

_John took a long breath; “Um,” letting out the long breath; “He’s had what I thought to be a nappy rash since the beginning really,” as he moved his hands and began to remove Sherlock’s leggings. “But this extensive….it’s maybe been about a week now.”_

_Allowing John the time to remove Sherlock’s top, the professor walked over to the sink where he disinfected his hands and slipped on a pair of standard hospital gloves. Returning to the boys he stepped in place of John who despite giving the professor some room he remained in contact with Sherlock whose little fingers gripped tightly onto John’s bigger ones._

_“It’s spread down his thighs and up to his lower back…” John drifted biting on his lip as he looked at those horrid red stains tainting Sherlock’s skin._

_The professor began with the right thigh, followed by the left and taking advantage of Sherlock’s position to one side he examined his back. Running his thumb gently over the skin he pressed down watching it turn white on pressure and returning to its red once the pressure was removed. Repeating this process several times his eyes and fingers concentrating on every action and reaction._

_“I’d say this is erythema toxicum. I mean it certainly looks like it but…”_

_“But why is it spreading instead of settling,” John finished the statement for him._

_The professor agreed; “Exactly. And it’s most often seen in…”_

_“Neonates,” John cut in._

_The professor paused with two short nods before taking a deep breath and moving onto those bruises._

_He carefully examined each one of them; from the small ones, to the few larger ones spread out through out his little body._

_“These are…” the professor drifted_

_“Ecchymotic…” John voiced._

_The professor blinked up to John with an acknowledging smile._

_The older man understood. He understood how hard it was for a doctor and one as good as John, to stand on ‘that side’ instead of ‘this side’._

_Running his finger gently over a particularly large one on Sherlock’s left arm; “I’ll be gentle,” the professor whispered as he pressed softly over the area and searched for a reaction from the child._

_He received none. As if it hadn’t happened._

_Sherlock’s eyes remained locked on John, as his little fingers held tight onto him._

_“They don’t seem to be causing him any pain,” the professor’s eyes made contact with John who agreed with the statement._

_With one last look and a deep breath; “Ok,” the professor’s voice a little distant as he bit down on his lip and stood up straight. Keeping his eyes over Sherlock, he removed his gloves and looked very much ready to make an attack plan. “How about we do a full blood test to start with and begin another round of stronger antibiotics in the mean time? I’ll have the blood test results by this afternoon and we can go from there?” the older man finally turning his eyes towards John searching for his approval._

_And it was given with a simple but firm nod._

_*****_

_The silence that had settled over their room was a sharp contrast to the events of only an hour or so ago. And it was little comfort to John…_

_Another night._

_Another night terror._

_Another night in wake._

_Another night watching helpless little eyes dilated and absent as arms and legs thrashed about in fear. Shrieks that sent shivers down John’s spine as he watched heavy tears mark their way down either side of that hot and sweating little face._

_And John…_

_John had worked through his own panic whispering sweet comforts as close to Sherlock’s little ear as he could get. He knew not to touch him. He knew not to wake him. But kneeling next to the bed he silently begged these nightmares away. Hands tightly clasped together feeling the minutes turning on the clock become all too long._

_*****_

_An hour or so later and the room was silent. Ghostly silent. As if the echoes of those screams still lingered in the air._

_That little body completely wasted of energy now lay still. His breathing settled back to a continuous and controlled rise and fall and where the only evidence of the previous hour was his glistening skin of sweat that had yet to dry._

_And so with his back against the wall just to the right of the only window in the room, John stood still. His arms crossed and his eyes absorbed in Sherlock despite his mind being unable to focus on one thing at a time._

_The doctor in him was puzzled._

_The father in him was terrified._

_His request to meet with professor Morrison was an act of desperation. Everything the man had said John had already thought of himself. It is only because of the situation and circumstance that he sought out a second opinion._

_But the test results came back: Clear_

_And yet…one look at Sherlock would suggest otherwise._

_His fingers had been itching for a few minutes now as he rubbed the index finger of his right hand against his thumb._

_He needed to…talk to someone._

_*****_

_Six rings later…_

_“Hello,” answered a groggy voice._

_She was met with silence._

_“Hello?” she insisted a little clearer._

_Silence._

_With a sound of annoyance she tried one last time; “Who is this?”_

_Nothing._

_Frustrated she moved the phone from her ear with every intention to hang up…_

_“Sarah.”_

_A short whisper but loud enough that she had just caught it._

_Immediately returning the phone to her ear; “John?” she asked as she lifted herself up in bed. “John. Is this you?” she asked again._

_The silence continued…though it mattered little. She knew it was him._

_The apprehension across the line was tangible. And it was all him._

_“John,“ she begged. “…please.”_

_The words took their time to reach her...but when they did they came with such…despair…_

_“Something’s wrong…” he gripped the phone._

_It took Sarah half a beat to reply; “I’m on my way.”_

_*****_

_She spent the night._

_John to the right side of the bed._

_Sarah to the left side of the bed._

_Sherlock between the two and fast asleep._

*****

He stopped dead and took a deep breath before looking down and guiding the key into the keyhole.

The building was unsettlingly silent which set John’s fine hairs on end.

Looking up the flight of stairs towards the flat he took one at a time…slowly and carefully. The dark cloud that had settled over him shadowed him and reflected his somber mood.

He’d left Sherlock with Mrs. Hudson out of a desperate need to…

To clear his head…

Clear his mind and work through his thoughts.

And feeling worst now than he did before…

Now…he just wanted to be home. He just wanted to be with Sherlock.

Reaching the flat he opened the door to find him sitting on the floor staring idly at the television. Mrs. Hudson presumably in the kitchen.

John couldn’t help himself, remaining silent and stock-still at the door…watching his little man. Watching and worrying.

And it took a minute but his presence was finally felt as Sherlock’s little eyes blinked and his head turned towards the door meeting with John.

It was a wonderful feeling watching those little eyes light up and his small red lips widen into a smile as he let out an excited giggle that mixed with a nervous laugh.

Turning his little torso in John’s direction with the intention to get on all fours and crawl towards him, his little open palms landed heavily on the ground…but his elbows gave way and his little face hit the floor.

John was immediately there to lift him and cradle him in his arms…that's not to say he didn’t notice the struggle Sherlock had to even lift his little arms up again.

And it scared him.

*****

**DAY 144**

Sherlock had seven more nosebleeds in the span of two days…


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Hope you're all well!  
> Never since I've started writing have I been hit with such a horrible case of writers block :( I think I sat before a blank document for a week straight before I could even form a sentence. So I am terribly sorry for the delay. On the plus side my brain finally kicked in and I've been writing for two days straight! :) Which means I'm actually 90% through the next chapter as well. I'm hoping to have it up within the next couple of nights. In the mean time I hope you enjoy this one. We are slowly reaching a climax and well....we'll see what happens. I have also added an additional tag to the story (medical procedures) in case anyone finds those sorts of things uncomfortable in any way. The last thing I wish to do is upset anyone.
> 
> Thank you as always for your patience and care! xx

**DAY 155**

His nights were restless to say the least. He was sleeping less and less. 2 hours. 3 hours. 4 at most and that was generous.

He was tired. So tired and so frustrated.

He’d gone to sleep around two in the morning and had been awake since just past five, unable and unwilling to go back to sleep. His mind webbed with questions and worries. So today like countless other mornings, he silently and carefully curled his body to the left, leaning his head on one arm and letting his other drape motionless over his stomach. He blinked a few times against the blur in his sight and swallowing hard he took a long and desperate breath.

The pitch darkness of the early morning was eerie against the whistling of a cold breeze outside. Yet despite the unnerving sounds travelling in the dark, he could feel the presence of a little body lying still and silent close by his side. 

Breathing and living, Sherlock had slept through the night. No violent night terrors. No sweating. No fevers…

Which rather than easing John’s mind…it set it on edge.

It was that chilling sensation of the calm that comes before a storm

What was going on? What was this? Why was it that no matter what they did, no matter what they investigated and examined….they just kept hitting a wall?

*****

_The last place he wanted to be, and much less three days before Sherlock’s birthday, was now to be their home for the next two nights:_

_Kind Edward VII Hospital._

_Sherlock’s team of specialist had been updated during a conference call on his current condition and all agreed that their immediate action was to keep him under observation for two days in which all would travel in from close and far to input on the situation._

_It was a necessary evil._

_So moving the phone from his ear and putting it down on the table, John looked towards Sherlock in his highchair. Oblivious to John, he kept his little head down and eyes curious as he slowly and gently, almost apprehensively, scratched with his right little hand at the new set of red lesions that had made an appearance on the inside of his left little wrist._

_It took John a moment but eventually and without a word, allowing Sherlock to continue, he took a deep breath and made his way to their bedroom and pack._

_*****_

_They’d been here and done this before. In fact the room they were given was the same one they had used when Sherlock had his initial evaluations. There was nothing new to it. The comfortable and rather unnecessarily large bed was still there. The ‘living area’, which took up half the room and contained a one and a two-seater sofa, was still there. The flat screen television was still to one side. And the large window that took up most of the far end wall had its blinds drawn._

_So with Sherlock held tight in one arm, John rolled his small suitcase into one corner and dropped the nappy bag just to one side of it. Making his way over to the window he looked out and up at the grey and threatening skies. A truly sorry sight. And if these sudden drops in temperature were any indication…it was bound to be a sad and bitter winter._

_Sherlock shivered in his arms bringing John’s eyes back to him._

_He felt heavy against John. He’d been like this for a few days. Like the weight of his own head and limbs was too much for him and he needed John’s constant hold to keep him up._

_Moving his hand John tried to bring that little head up to meet his eyes. It was useless. That little head refused and instead remained tilted down against his chest. His eyes partly closed and his breathing a little tired._

_Closing his eyes for a moment John instead cupped a little cheek and watching their reflection on the glass frowned as he kissed the top of those curls._

_*****_

_‘Dear John,_

_Hospitals can be terribly tiresome. Hope this gift allows both yourself and Sherlock some respite._

_My brother’s medical team has arrived and is ready to begin when you are. Today will be purely observational. Tomorrow a set of predetermined tests will be carried out. Any other time should be yours to do as you please._

_I will be in touch with you and should anything arise I will be contacted immediately._

_Deepest regards,  
MH’_

_John found the note and the box it was attached to after pulling the blinds down and making his way back to the bed wanting to lie down with Sherlock for a few minutes. It was only early morning but the day seemed to merit a nap._

_So adjusted at the top of the bed with his back against the headboard, he crossed his legs just enough that Sherlock fit nicely in the gap between; his little back in turn resting against John’s stomach as his legs folded in the same way._

_Putting the note down to one side he lifted the box wrapped in silver paper and turned it over with both hands. It was then…that Sherlock seemed to suddenly come back to life full of energy as he lifted both arms and tried to reach for the box._

_The action catching John by surprise._

_It wasn’t, however, as if this hadn’t happened before._

_Sherlock had been having these….‘moments’. Moments in which he would go from heavy and devoid of any energy and/or strength, to a sudden wakefulness and full of life._

_They had been noted. John had made sure that these were clearly documented._

_But for the moment and opting to ignore the questions that these actions arose, John instead lowered the box onto Sherlock’s lap and allowed him the honor. Sherlock didn’t need to be asked twice as he tried desperately with little fingernails to rip at the paper. His eyes intent and determined._

_John in return simply watched and smiled. “Here,” he whispered as he tore a piece of the paper so Sherlock could simply pull at it._

_And he did; slowly, slowly bringing the box underneath into view…much to John’s disbelief._

_Pulling the rest of the paper away he held the box containing a beautiful new iPad mini._

_He could never have afforded such a thing. It was expensive and to be honest a little unnecessary...but he was grateful._

_Sherlock on the other hand was far less impressed ignoring the gift altogether and instead struggled to crawl over John’s right leg. But he didn’t go very far stopping before he’d even reached the other side. With one leg still over John’s and the other some folded underneath him, he turned his eyes towards the nappy bag. Having pinned it with his eyes, he then turned back to John and then again back towards the bag._

_John didn’t have to hear it from Sherlock’s own lips though it would have been nice. No, John knew exactly what Sherlock was after. So moving his leg from under Sherlock, he made his way to the bag and pulled out what was wanted; bunny._

_*****_

_What was it about hospitals that made hours slow down to almost a stop?_

_Following lunch, John had his first encounter with Professor Morrison along with Mr Chan, Professor Andrews and Doctor Reynolds._

_Watching Sherlock struggle as he was pinned down and examined by the three was a whole new kind of horror John did not need to see. Luckily his behavior had also ended the examination prematurely._

_As per Mycroft’s note, today they would simply keep an eye on him and watch his progress unless they were forced to intervene. Tomorrow Sherlock would have yet another full blood and urine test along with an MRI and any other tests deemed necessary at the time._

_The encounter had felt eternal and yet by four in the afternoon John found himself with nothing to do and an increasingly annoyed and frustrated Sherlock in his arms._

_So returning to their room he pulled one of Sherlock’s flannelettes from the nappy bag, along with the iPad and stretching out on the two-seater he lay Sherlock with his little back against him. He tucked both of them in and pulled the gadget over to get to know it. Sherlock’s little fingers every now and then aimed for the screen touching icons silently as his other hand clutched tightly to bunny._

_*****_

_The day had gone well._

_Too well._

_Because come two in the morning…they were back._

_The fevers._

_The night terrors._

_John had known this would happen. And the pain of watching it never eased. So leaping up from the bed he sent a group page to Sherlock’s team of specialist as had been asked of him. Then watched from the side of the bed with hands clasped together and raised up to his lips, as Sherlock’s behavior became increasingly aggressive and loud; fighting his demons it would seem._

_Professor Morrison and Mr. Chan arrived promptly now accompanied by Professor Niccolacci and a nurse; the same nurse that had helped with Sherlock all those months ago. John would eventually recognize her but his current priority was Sherlock._

_So working together they silently monitored Sherlock’s vitals and waited for the screams and struggles to ease before setting to work on his fever._

_*****_

_It was seven in the morning and Sherlock seemed entirely unaware of the previous night. Which perhaps accounted for his confusion but _not_ his subsequent reaction._

_John knew Sherlock. He knew what to do and when to do it. He knew what to say and when to say it. They knew each other and worked around each other like clockwork._

_This morning it seemed…that clock had stopped._

_“Sherlock!” John struggled against little arms and legs desperate to break free from him. “Sherlock!” his voice gaining strength. “Sherlock stop! Sherlock! Stop! Stop!”_

_It was no use. Sherlock wasn’t listening. His legs kicked and his arms pushed and pinched and slapped at whatever part of John was nearest to him as his screams became louder and louder._

_“Sherlock!” John begged. “Please…” his voice breaking to a whisper as he desperately tried to grab hold of those little arms without hurting him._

_The only other person in the room was the young yet experienced nurse who saw a window of opportunity and took it. It was only a second but Sherlock’s little thigh came into full view as John’s arm had come to wrap around Sherlock’s knees. So she stepped in and injected the area._

_It was painful. Not for Sherlock. But for John._

_It was painful to feel those little arms and legs slowly stop struggling. Slowly lose strength go weak and numb against him. For those screams to fade and the room suddenly fall silent as John held him tighter and tighter._

_*****_

_“You cannot keep telling me that nothing is wrong!” John demanded. “See, my problem right now is that you’re talking and all I’m hearing is noise! He’s sick! Something. Is wrong! And all I keep hearing is; everything is clear! Everything’s fine. It’s not!”_

_It was half past two in the afternoon and Professor Morrison had come to deliver the results._

_The blood and urine tests were clear. The MRI was clear. And after deciding to perform a lumber puncture…the results were also clear._

_“I want to see the MRI,” not a question but a demand from John._

_“Of course,” agreed the Professor excusing himself and leaving the room in search of the images._

_From where he stood by the window in their room, John turned his eyes towards Sherlock whose sedative was well and truly wearing off. Not enough that it had him active but merely alert and awake._

_Pulling out his mobile phone:_

_‘Where are you Mycroft? JW’_

_He waited._

_No response._

_Irritated he took a deep breath and instead made his way over to the bed taking a seat just beside the boy. Their eyes meeting as John lifted his hand and ran it gently over those black curls._

*****

The sun had slowly filtered into the room as he’d watched for the past three hours that small and asleep silhouette become clearer and clearer in the light.

After some twitching, some shifting and some blinking, those little blue grey eyes came into view and met John’s.

“Morning birthday boy,” he whispered.

Sherlock merely blinked. His eyes still a little dazed and sluggish.

Leaning his head forward, John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s temple and whispered; “Happy birthday.”

Raising his little right hand, Sherlock brushed John’s chin briefly with his little fingers before going back to his own eyes and rubbing them with the back of his wrists.

Using his elbow for support, John turned to his right and reached towards the bedside table. There he found two books held together with baby blue ribbon and next to them a small navy blue velvet box.

Leaving the box for the moment, he took the books and brought them over with him. Once there he sat up and stretching out his arms he took Sherlock by his little armpits and brought him up into a sitting position with him.

“Happy birthday,” he reiterated as he crossed his legs and shifted the books a little closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned over and pulled at the ribbon letting it loose quite easily.

“I thought we could give anatomy a little break,” said John quite excited as he helped Sherlock by moving the smaller book from the top and placing them side-by-side.

Aiming his little hands at the larger one, Sherlock ran his little fingertips over the name: “The Bees of the World” by Charles Duncan Michene. With a look that spelled approval and which John found terribly comical, Sherlock then sat up again and turned his attention to the second and smaller book: “Bee and Me” by Elle J. McGuiness…

If the look on Sherlock’s face was anything to go by…he wasn’t amused by John’s second choice.

Shrugging with a wide smile; “Just for the fun of it,” John whispered. “Now, what do you say we go celebrate?”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! :) Back again!  
> I want to apologise. I feel like the last chapter left quite a bit to be desired and for that I'm sorry. That's not how I like to write.
> 
> As I mentioned in a comment just before...we have reached the end! There is perhaps 3 chapters left to go (4 if I'm not entirely comfortable about how I've wrapped it all up but I will aim for 3). Depending on how much sleep I get in the next few days (hehe) I might even have the last chapter finished and posted by this weekend. We'll see.
> 
> Never the less I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm not sure what to say about it other than...
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: I sincerely want to apologise to anyone I might have upset with this chapter. It was my mistake to not have put trigger warnings prior to posting and I am terribly sorry for that. One of my lovely readers reminded me of it and it is true. In my rush to post this chapter I failed to update tags and place a warning. It was not my intention to. I value all of you individually and I wouldn't want to hurt any of you. I really do. So again I am terribly sorry.**

“This doesn’t make any sense,” the young man moved away from his microscope, rubbing his eyes in frustration and pushing his sore back against his chair. His tense muscles aching as he stretched his arms up and out.

“What doesn’t?” a fellow researcher to his right questioned though too distracted and absorbed in his own work to sound remotely concerned.

The young man looked at his colleague and letting out a long breath; “Nothing.”

*****

Cleaning Sherlock off of his nightly sweats, John was holding him in the bathtub giving him a good wash. He ran his fingers through those little dark curls to get as much of the shampoo out as possible and watched amused as Sherlock closed his little eyes almost dramatically to stop it from getting into his eyes. As he pulled his hand away however, to gather some more water, he stopped cold as a lump of those beautiful black curls came off attached to his fingers.

Completely taken aback, his breathing hitched as he quickly dipped his hand back into the water watching as the little hairs floated away…

*****

Head down and eyes fixed into his microscope the young man continued. Despite a throbbing headache and a sore back, it was his desperate need that kept him going. He needed to understand what didn’t make any sense.

The sample of blood had been provided to him two days ago by his supervisor Professor Morrison, not as a pathologist but as a researcher. He was not given any information about the patient other than he was a baby boy and in addition a full list of symptoms and manifestations…

None of which made sense!

The samples were clean. Normal. Perhaps a bit low on iron and a little high on white blood cells…but nothing out of the ordinary…

Nothing!

Nothi…

He jerked up from his microscope…

What was that?

Certain it was his headache causing him visions, he blinked a few times and dropped his eyes back down the lens...and he watched. And he waited. Patiently…

Blood cells, fixed with a fluorescent red marker, dotting his screen, seemingly unmoving and perfectly normal in shape and size...

Until…there it was again. And then again…and again!

Moving away from his microscope he stood in panic and confusion rubbing his face a few times and turning in his spot. What on earth had he just seen? What…

With his hands on his hips he took a few deep and rapid breaths before making a move. He took the slide from under the microscope and ran. Just ran.

*****

The sun from earlier this morning was now nowhere to be seen as John took a quick look out their bedroom window.

They did not expect anyone for at least another hour. And by _anyone_ they really were only expecting three to four. Missus Hudson and Sarah of course. Lestrade; an invitation that John had thought through twice and three times over, unsure as to how Sherlock would feel about it. And lastly Mycroft…

Mycroft…now there was a mystery. Yes he answered John’s calls and replied to his texts…but he hadn’t actually seen the man in what felt like weeks. But then, this was Mycroft. A Holmes. He would present himself when John least expected it. No sooner, no later.

Stepping away from the window, John headed straight to the bed where he had laid out Sherlock’s outfit for the day; a white onesie with light brown stripes, with a white section around the tummy set aside for a small and chubby looking bear that followed the flight of a bee.

“Alright mister. Lets get you ready,” putting Sherlock down and getting to work on the onesie.

*****

The research building was attached to King Edward VII by a long corridor on the fourth floor. A corridor which the young researcher had sprinted across only seconds ago.

He wasn’t sure if Professor Morrison would be in his office but that was the first place he would try. He had tried calling but received no answer so taking the fire escape stairs he made his way to the second floor. Running down a corridor and turning right onto another he finally found his supervisors office.

He didn’t knock. Just entered; “Professor Morrison!”

The older man looked up from his paperwork.

“Aidan? What are you doing here?” asked the professor genuinely confused.

Aidan took a few short breaths and swallowed dry before; “He needs to be brought in immediately!”

“Who?”

“The child whose specimen…you had me test,” his voice a little more even.

“Why?” questioned the professor.

Aidan took a deep breath but didn’t look any less consterned; “That boy is dying.”

*****

“Almost there,” whispered John as he tugged at one side of the onesie and pulled it over Sherlock’s chest.

The boy, lying perfectly still on the bed.

A little too still.

Busy finishing up John had kept his eyes on his work…until he finally lifted them; “Sherlock?” he whispered.

No response. Little eyes motionless.

“Sherlock!” John called a little louder as he leaned further forward over him. “Sherlock!” this time a little firmer.

Sherlock’s eyes were glazed and fixed. He was clearly breathing but he was also sweating cold, completely unresponsive and deathly pale...

John will swear to you that no amount of time as a soldier or a doctor had filled him with such panic and terror as the moment he saw Sherlock’s eyes roll back and his body begin to seizure. Violently.

Pulling his phone out he dialed the only person he could think of in his panic; “Mycroft!”

*****

“You better explain yourself very carefully Aidan,” the professor suddenly much more serious as he walked around his desk and met the young man where he had stopped.

“His body is attacking itself! It’s eating itself away! And the reason we couldn’t find anything, the reason all his tests kept coming back clean time and time again was because this…” unsure of what to call it he searched for a somewhat correct term. “This _virus_ or whatever this is, is _mimicking_ every other cell in his body! It’s been hidden in plain sight! Every time we looked down a microscope we saw what we expected to see,” he tried desperately to word himself. “Because we hadn’t been tracking it in real time, I mean why would we, there was no reason to, but because we hadn’t we couldn’t possibly see what it had been doing over time! It’s probably been eating him away for weeks, months even! I don’t know! If it hadn’t been out of sheer curiosity and frustration that I sat down and watched the sample long enough I…” his sentenced trailed as he stopped to take some calming breaths. “It’s been happening slowly. _Very_ slowly. These ‘cells’ are turning on one another. They literally change structure for all of a split second and swallows the nearest cells to it. It then chances back…as if nothing’s happened…” Aidan’s voice unsteady. “This could explain those ‘moments’ that were documented. These cells attacked him and then would leave him alone. One minute he would feel sick…the next…he’d be fine…” Aidan was scared. “After what I just witnessed this morning…this thing, whatever it is, isn’t hiding anymore. It’s aggressive. It’s showed its face…and it’s killing him!”

Professor Morrison was rooted and stunned. In all his years of medicine. In all his years as a doctor…this was that one case all doctors have. The case they just can’t wrap their head around.

Looking away as if trying to piece it together in his mind and form a coherent sentence.

“Can you track it?” he asked softly but quickly gaining strength. “Can you isolate it?”

“Um…I can try. I don’t know how long it will take me though. And that child _doesn’t have the time_ ,” Aidan made his point.

Snapping both of them out of their trance, professor Morrison’s pager went off. Beeping shockingly loud.

Looking down to his belt, he lifted it up and read it to himself.

“Do what you have to do,” he said urgently almost half way out the door.

“What about the child?” shouted Aidan after him watching the professor run down the corridor.

“He’s already there!” was his last response before he disappeared into the elevators.

*****

_10:06AM_

Sherlock was admitted to the emergency department at St Bartholomew’s Hospital.

*****

_10:09AM_

Sherlock went into respiratory arrest.

*****

_10:13AM_

Sherlock was stabilized with an endotracheal tube.

*****

_10:32AM_

John watched every rise and fall. Monitored every breath.

Gripping the end of the bed, John felt isolated. And cold. And lonely…and terrified. Absolutely terrified.

There was no one in the room but Sherlock. While doctors called out orders. While nurses worked around him. For him…there was only Sherlock.

What had just happened?

Everything was fine…everything…

And now words and orders floated around him. Things that he could just make out the distance; _collapsed lung_ , _edema_ , _heart rate_ , _virus_ , _dying_ …

*****

_10:59AM_

John had taken a seat beside the bed. Both his hands resting gently over Sherlock’s cold little left one. Between their skin the hard and intruding IV line that had pierced that skin bruising and bleeding it.

You could hear it. In the silence that had become the room, you could hear the struggle of every breath. The gurgle of air mixing with fluid and slowly drowning those little lungs…

*****

_11:23AM_

Sherlock suffered acute renal failure.

*****

_11:42_

Sherlock was attached to a filtration circuit for hemofiltration.

*****

_12:03PM_

He looked smaller. Under all that sterilized plastic that fed him air and nutrients and…life. Sherlock looked smaller.

It’s not as if he’d never seen this before. It’s not as if he’d never witnessed critically ill children surviving from one breath to the next.

The difference was…this was Sherlock.

*****

_12:45PM_

Sherlock’s immune system attacked itself.

*****

_12:51PM_

‘Where are you Mycroft? JW’

It was the only thing he could manage.

He needed someone. He needed Mycroft. He would solve this. He solved everything didn’t he?

He needed help. From anyone.

*****

_13:28PM_

“It’s moving faster than we can keep up. It’s unpredictable. It’s vicious,” whispered Professor Morrison. “I’ve never seen a deterioration of this nature. Not this savage.”

*****

_13:46PM_

He prayed.

Something he hadn’t done since the war. Since that hot blistering day when he collapsed onto that dirty and dusty ground. Shot. Bleeding and dying.

All he could do then was pray.

All he could do now was pray.

Plead. Beg. Compromise and promise.

Just please God…let him live.

*****

_13:51PM_

Sherlock went into cardiac arrest.

*****

_13:56PM_

Sherlock was pronounced dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here I am again!
> 
> I really have been typing like a madwoman lately hehe but I think the idea of getting the last chapter up by today was a little too optimistic on my part...might take me another night or so.
> 
> Following on from my previous chapter and the note I posted about 24 hours after the chapter was posted, I again want to reiterate how sorry I am for not having updated my tags and trigger warned. I really, honestly am. It was completely irresponsible of me as a writer and I am very sorry to anyone I may have unintentionally hurt. Really. I do take these things very seriously because I know it is a delicate subject. I deal with these things in real life every day and if there's one thing I respect is everyone's and anyone's pain.
> 
> Even though this is a story with fictional characters that I have merely borrowed from its creator...I am still very sorry.
> 
> I do hope you enjoy the following chapter and...I'll see you lovely people on the other side :) xx
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: The following chapter does continue delving into the death of a child and the grieving process of a person. It will also touch on issues of PTS - Post traumatic stress disorder. Please read with caution.**

The monitors were silenced at their power source. An unbroken and ceaseless flat line cut off to a black screen. That steady and piercing sound that had not long ago announced death…was now a ghost in the air.

Doctors…

Nurses…

All people…all moving. 

Slowly.

Ever so slowly.

Splitting away, in their own directions and in their own time under this blanket of shock and confusion. Grieving in silence. Because no matter how long you’ve been here for. Because no matter how long you’ve done this for…it will _never_ get easier.

Because buried under all that which had desperately tried to keep him alive…was a little boy. With small and grey eyes that would never be seen again. With a giggle that would turn into nothing more than a memory. With little fingers that wouldn’t grip onto anyone anymore.

And it was these things…that would haunt this man…

A man that somehow…just somehow…was still standing.

At the end of the bed…he just…stood.

With nowhere to go…and nothing to go to…and no one to go to…

Everything…he’d ever had…everyone he’d ever had…the only person he’d ever had…was right here. So why would he go?

With every muscle in him twisted around every one of his nerves. His body riding a wave or irregular and scattered twitches that went unnoticed by him.

His chest moving through rapid, short and intermittent breaths. Droplets of air that reached his lungs by necessity. All for that organ in his chest that insisted on carrying on against his will. Beating painfully loud in his ears and reminding him that…he was still alive.

_Was he still alive?_

_Why was he still alive?_

_He really…shouldn’t be…right?_

_He’s just…he’s been shot…hasn’t he? Yes. That’s right…he…he was shot…in the…in the shoulder. Was it his shoulder? He can’t quite tell. It’s too noisy. Between the disordered voices of his troops and the whistling of bullets…God why don’t they listen to him? Why didn’t they ever listen to him? He’s told them to take cover! Leave him! Just leave him! He’s as good as dead so why are they dragging him into…? God, just leave!_

_Yes. Yes. It’s his…left…shoulder? Yes. Oh. He’d been shot. Or was he bitten…? No…no it…_

_Oh. Yes he’s definitely been shot. Shit! Shit! Well if he doesn’t die here his senior will finish him off! Oh John…why did you go and get yourself shot? Now what? Shit…there it is. He can feel it now. Stinging hot. Burning down his chest and back. His uniform…his vest…this fucking tight vest. God why are these things so bloody hot? It hurts to even breathe! But yes. It makes sense now. He was shot._

_And this bloody sand in his eyes! Scratching and hurting the whites of his eyes. God would he ever see again…? If only he could lift his hand up to them. He just needs to rub the stuff out of them! He just needed t…_

_He should be dead. Isn’t he dead? Why isn’t he dead?_

“Oh my God…”

_Sarah? Sarah what are you doing here? It’s dangerous! Get out of here!_

“What happened?” a whisper choked in tears.

_Why was he still alive?_

“Oh my God…”

_He was still alive._

A single heavy tear didn’t ask for permission. It just fell right out of his left eye.

“What happened?” she begged for answers as she stepped closer to the bed. Hands shaking and reaching forward to touch that cold little forehead…

“Don’t.”

His voice sounding alien to him. It was an impulse. A demand. ‘Don’t.’ ‘Don’t touch him.’ ‘Don’t get near him.’

Gripping just that little bit tighter…his fingers clutching just that little bit stiffer…onto this…this stupid stuffed toy. That stupid, stupid bunny he told his little boy would keep him safe. This stupid floppy old thing that kept him safe…why didn’t he keep them safe? Why didn’t this stupid bunny keep them both safe? He was supposed to…

One leg moving in front of the other. Mechanically. By compulsion. By habit. They moved and moved until they reached the side of the bed.

And with eyes set and strong…his jaw tightened and with a tremor in his hands, he laid bunny next to one little arm. Then slowly…and gently, with reverence, he began to remove…one by one…every single tube. Every single cord. Every single needle. Every single strap and tape.

Gently.

Oh so gently.

Until he could see him again. He could see all of him again.

“There you are…” he whispered. His eyes scanning every part of that immobile little body.

Someone in the room was crying. He could hear it in the distance. Oh so far away.

Taking the onesie that had been discarded to one side hours ago…he extended it and slowly. Gently. He dressed his little boy again.

Was it Sarah? Yes. It was Sarah. What was she doing here? Why was she crying? Yes. It was her.

Dressed again, John lifted that little fragile body off the bed. Pressing him against his chest. Cold. Why was he so cold? Resting that little head against him…he held tight. Bunny caught somewhere between them.

That stupid bunny.

…and he began to pace. His steps were tentative. As if he hadn’t walked in a long time and wasn’t sure how to do it anymore. One foot in front of the other.

Walking.

Walking.

Until he reached the window. The reflection of an imagine he’d seen before.

And there he stayed. Where else would he go? He had nowhere else to go. And no one else to be with.

*****

“John.”

Blank.

“John.”

Nothing still.

“John…” only this time: “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Those tired and red eyes kept still.

John. He hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure how long it had been…not that it mattered much. Not anymore. He could stay here…forever really.

“John.”

Who…wait…was someone talking to him?

“John.”

That voice…

“John please…”

Was he a doctor?

“John.”

Blinking slowly he raised his head from where it had come to rest just over a little head that remained cradled against him.

“John.”

He made out the reflection on the glass.

It was a doctor.

The Doctor.

John had forgotten what it was like to be overcome with rage. And it suddenly all came back to him. This man. That man. He was…

“John please…” the Doctor ventured. The tall and lanky man had run. Boy had he run to be here. But he hadn’t made it in time.

The sight that greeted him gripping his hearts. He never thought it’d be this hard. But it was. It was painful. It was absolutely…painful.

But! He was here and he was here for a reason!

“John…I’m so sorry. I really am…but…” he wasn’t sure how to word this because he already knew what the answer would be. Regardless; “I need to take him with me. There’s still time…”

Never in his years of life had he seen such fury and resentment flash across someone’s eyes the way he saw it in John’s eyes. The first time their eyes had met today. Through the reflection in the glass, those eyes met and brought the Doctor to a stop.

But he would prevail! He had to…

“John…please.”

Silence.

“John.”

John couldn’t. He simply couldn’t anymore. He was too weak. Too sore. Too scared.

“Can’t you see…” his eyes welling and finally letting go.

He hadn’t cried.

He hadn’t given himself permission to

…but there was only so much one human can handle. There really is only so much.

“I’ve…” his voice breaking into a hoarse whisper that never quite made it out. “I’ve had enough…” And lowering his eyes again, his lips coming to rest over those curls…or what remained of them; “I’ve had enough…” his words muffled and distorted. Heavy wet drops falling clean out of his eyes and intact onto those curls. Each slowly and in their own time, paving their way down and around little strands of black hair.

“You have no reason to believe me. I know ok. I know. I’ve…” the Doctor’s voice caught. His eyes wandering and his hands moving together nervously before; “I’ve let you down. Ok. I’ve let you both down…I’ve let everyone…my own family down…” pleaded the Doctor. “Family. John,” he reiterated. And swallowing hard he continued amidst what appeared to be his own heartbreak and tears; “Please John. Please…let me…” he begged. “Please.”

John’s eyes brimming and unapologetic; “He’s dea…” his voice caught in his lungs as he raised his eyes up and took a sharp breath in. Bringing his eyes back down; “Can’t you respect that?” through tight lips.

Both men breathing heavily. Both fighting for their own cause. Both running out of time.

“Please…” the Doctor asked clasping his hands together as if in prayer; “One last time John.” He pleaded. “Please. Don’t do it for me. Don’t. Just. Do it for him. Do it all for him…just one last time John…please.”

*****

“Where are we going?” John’s tone deep and serious.

“Not as far as you’d think actually,” whispered the Doctor as they made their way down these hospital corridors. Each one of them looking exactly like the previous.

They were sneaking out. They had to. The so-called ‘team of specialist’ knew enough as it was. They didn’t need to know any more.

Taking two steps at a time down the fire escape doors they quickly made their way out through the rear of the hospital…where Clara was waiting.

John’s eyes remained cold and still despite her attempts at a smile.

“Let’s go!” called the Doctor racing ahead of them as he turned into a small alleyway and straight into the TARDIS.

John followed not far behind who was in turn followed by Clara.

Once inside the TARDIS; “Alright everybody! Hold on tight!”

*****

“Why are we here?” John asked regaining his previous anger as he stopped with a jerk before he had even stepped out of the TARDIS.

The Doctor, who had taken a few steps ahead and was too excited for his own good, turned in his spot. His body waving with his usual mannerism; “Ah well…I needed a large room…” tilting his head to the left; “And she _has_ a large room.”

John’s jaw tightened; “I don’t want that woman anywhere near him,” his eyes still hot and swollen with a layer of glaze to them.

The Doctor took in the seriousness of John’s tone as his own body stopped; “She won’t. She had nothing to do with this.”

“I don’t want to take him in there.”

“John…” the Doctor brought his hands together again. “I am begging you to trust me. Please.”

John’s inner battle was obvious for everyone to see.

This red stone building brought back too many memories. Too many bad memories.

“Please John…we really do need to hurry now.”

John fought with himself. He really did. His mind and heart pulling in all directions.

It took all of him…it really did. But eventually…they moved. They moved towards and entered that red stone building.

*****

She was there. The witch. The woman.

She was in a corner. Simply watching. Observing. Did not say a single word.

But she wasn’t alone…

Mycroft.

The man himself was there.

Till this day John couldn’t possibly tell you just how he managed to refrain himself from doing something very awful to that man. Though he desperately wanted to.

And the room…well it was much different. _Very_ different in fact. It seemed larger and lighter. And in the middle of it, where the dark veil used to part the room, now stood two tall and vertical panels emitting a green fluorescent light through what looked to John like an electrical circuit. And right between the two was a bed.

“What is that?” John asked. His tone hadn’t much changed for most of the trip and now it had gained an even greater intensity.

“Uh…let’s call it an…‘immortality gate’ for the sake of this discussion,” replied the Doctor distracted as he monitored two different screens that John assumed were attached to this contraption. And then finally looking up: “And we’re loaded!”

Walking towards John he aimed for the small body in his arms. The idea was quickly cut dead as John pulled back and instead asked; “Where do you want him?” avoiding the Doctor’s eyes.

Fisting his hands as if embarrassed and momentarily biting on his lip, the Doctor then pointed with both hands; “Right there.”

On the bed. Between the two panels. John slowly lowered Sherlock feeling cold as their two bodies finally came apart.

That little body having gained by now that awful color of death.

With one last touch…John stepped away and to the side. Close enough that he could see everything but nowhere near anyone else.

The Doctor…whispering to himself…“Alright…don’t let me down…”

His fingers running madly over a keyboard until he finally looked up towards the panels and the bed…and that little body…and with an inner prayer...pressed ENTER.

The room seemed to fill with energy as the walls began to vibrate and the machine gained life. Electric currents began running wild and visible to the human eye.

John was still. Terrified really. But like the Doctor, more than anything…he prayed. In silence. Just prayed. A chant. A plea. ‘Please. Please. Please. Please. Please Sherlock. Please come back. Please don’t leave me here…please.’

Something…was happening…something had…

Little arms and legs…they…they gained a golden color. It was…like rays of golden light…emitting. Extending from him…what was that? What was happening to him? Through his lips. Through his closed eyes…just golden light.

John wished he could have seen. He wished he could have kept his eyes fixed. But the light was just too strong. Too intense. Too blinding.

His couldn’t handle it having to look down and away. But he could feel it. He could feel the energy and strength bouncing off his skin…

He couldn’t see anything. It was just too bright…too bright…

But that didn’t mean he didn’t _hear_ …oh he heard it…

A loud and painful inhale.

And not that of a child either.

It was the strong and desperate intake of air…of an adult.

Against the light. Against the brightness…he just had to see…he had to see…

He could just make it out…his eyes burning with the light but he could just make out…

A tall and lanky naked figure…

His lungs pulling in air desperately.

His hands…long fingers…radiating light as they clutched tight.

And those eyes…those beautiful eyes…the ones he thought he’d never see again…they gained life as they snapped open.

Sherlock…was back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back!!!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!I'm here :)
> 
> *Deep breath* Ok! Here we go...  
> I'm actually quite scared about how this chapter turned out. I'm scared of how my resolution to all this will be received. I typed it two different ways but this one felt much more my style. And although I said there was probably only one more chapter after this one...it's looking like it might be two. Only because I'm half way through the next one and it feels like there is a just that little bit more to say.
> 
> No warnings this time but keep your imagination open...what you're about to read may stretch the boundaries a little hehe
> 
> Enjoy!! Thank you all xxx

Sherlock had been asleep for almost two hours. The same hours that John had watched over him arms crossed and in silence.

A white sheet covering those long scrawny limbs. Pale skin having regained its delicate nature. That bony chest rising and falling and messy and strong black curls contrasting against the white pillow supporting his head.

And as he stood there, John felt increasingly…heavy, under a mix of relief, confusion and…uncertainty.

He felt…strange and…uncomfortable.

He needed to understand what had happened. Sherlock was somehow…alive…again…and he just…he needed to understand! How? Just…how?

And…what now?

What would they do now? How would they…go back to before?

And his little boy? What was he to do…without his little boy?

Slowly closing his eyes for a moment and feeling incredibly tired, he corrected himself as his eyes fell on Sherlock again.

There _was_ no little boy.

There was…Sherlock: his flat mate and his best friend.

And he knew he should be grateful. He _was_ grateful. He really, truly was. Sherlock was alive. Breathing. Living. He’d been returned to him. Sherlock had come back to him. And he _was_ grateful…

But…

It all felt…strange…

John let out a short and soft sigh.

For months their lives had shifted to accommodate their new situation

…and now…they had to shift again…

…and then…

What of their ‘new’ life?

How could they live together after this?

Would Sherlock remember?

Oh goodness…

What if Sherlock remembered everything?

What if Sherlock didn’t remember anything?

What then?

Losing focus on those eyelids that fluttered in deep sleep…John gripped tight onto himself. His eyes burning and blurred as he recalled…moments. Moments he’d held Sherlock tight against his chest. Moments he’d seen Sherlock cry as he had soothed tears that hurt him just as much. Moments he’d rocked him to sleep. Moments he’d heard him laugh. Every sleepless night and early morning. Every meal and change time.

…every kiss and cuddle.

How was he…expected to…move on from that?

How do you forget all that? How could anyone ask him to forget all that? How…

And as he stood here uncertain about his future, John’s hand twitched and whether by impulse or need…he slowly unclenched his right hand and reached towards Sherlock’s left one.

His fingers hovering uncertain, just a breath away from Sherlock’s still and long ones…and he hesitated…just enough that he suddenly found himself accompanied. Mycroft’s almost feline nature making his arrival to John’s right side frighteningly silent.

With a strange feeling of being ‘caught’ John pulled his hand up and coming to fold his arms protectively over his chest again, he took a long breath.

A small silence prevailed before he finally asked the first of many questions as he kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock; “Where have you been?”

“Busy,” Mycroft’s voice chillingly even; “saving my brother’s life.”

John was having none of it; “He was dying and you were nowhere to be found. He _died_ and you were nowhere to be found,” his anger held tight as his jaw tightened and his teeth came down heavily onto his lower lip.

“I needed him,” the Doctor replied taking John by surprise finding the man suddenly standing to his left.

That Doctor.

The one who had saved both Sherlock…and him.

The one who held all the answers…

…and like that it was time; “Ok” John paused. “Start from the start.”

“You might want to sit down for this…” interrupted Madame Adler holding in her hands a silver platter with tea ready for all. “It’s a very long story.”

*****

_**24 July 6012 - Messaline** _

_“Something tells me this isn’t about to check my blood pressure!” the Doctor panicked…only a little…as his hand and most of his arm remained trapped inside this loud cylindrical machine he was forced into._

_“What’re you doing to him?” demanded Donna._

_“Everyone gets processed,” replied the man in uniform._

_“It’s taken a tissue sample. Ow ow ow ow! And extrapolated it! Some kind of accelerator?” questioned the Doctor as the machine finally released him._

_Moving back a few steps he examined his hand before looking up the larger machine attached to the one he had just been released from._

_“Are you alright?” asked Martha._

_The Doctor and Donna too distracted to answer kept their eyes on the large machine whose door was slowly opening._

_“What on earth? That’s just…” whispered the Doctor in confusion as he watched through the smoke…_

_A woman step out of the machine; dressed in battle uniform with her blonde hair tied back._

_“Where did she come from?” asked Martha_

_“From me,” the Doctor looking completely perplexed._

_“From you? How? Who is she?” demanded Donna._

_“Well…she’s…well…she’s my daughter!”_

*****

“ _You_ have a daughter?” reiterated John

They had moved from the bedside to the circular rosewood table that John recalled all too well. With the Doctor seated directly across from him and Mycroft to his right, John rested both arms over the table and on either side of his teacup as his hands clasped together.

“ _Well_...yes…yes…” the Doctor tried to sound convincing through his own unsureness; “…apparently.”

“Apparently?” questioned John.

*****

 _“Wait…does that mean she’s…”_ questioned Donna.

*****

“Part…time lord…part…human,” explained the Doctor.

Frowning as he desperately tried to piece this…this thing together, John’s eyes wandered over the Doctor before blinking away and shifting in his chair; “What’s her name?”

“Jenny.”

“Where is she now?”

“ _Well_ …that’s where all these time lines seem to merge…” the Doctor began. “Things had gone from bad to worse that day. In all fairness I thought she was dead. I mean…she was shot during a battle and…” the Doctor’s eyes became distant as did his voice; “I watched her die.” Yet with a deep breath, revitalizing breath; “You can imagine my surprise when I ran straight into her in a different planet and had to save her life…again. She wasn’t dead! She had come back and there she was! Regeneration works in funny ways and she was a perfect example of it.”

“Ok,” John began; “As glad and as happy as I am that your daughter is still alive…I still don’t see what all this has to do with Sherlock,” John stated.

The Doctor sought Mycroft’s eyes before looking back at John.

“Jenny…travelled with me. It was only for a short amount because soon enough we found our way back to earth. And very much against my will,” like an overprotective father much to John’s hidden amusement; “she went ahead and fell in love and with a human no less!” his hands up in exasperation and John and Mycroft exchanged a look. “They eventually got married but as you can imagine their children were destined to be exactly like her…”

“So?” John hurried him.

“Well what I’m trying to say is…” the Doctor let out a breath and instead falling to slower pace as his shoulders dropped; “John, think here for a second. Did you ever wonder why Sherlock was just that…” trying to find the words; “that little bit different to everyone else? That little bit strange. That little bit ahead of everyone…that little bit quicker than everyone. Maybe…” and swallowed and took a deep breath. “Maybe just that little bit…alien?” his words almost a whisper.

The word hung in the air waiting to be understood and accepted.

And with a sudden realization…it was.

John’s eyes dilated with incredulity as they pinned the Doctor. “I’m sorry?” a whisper barely slipping out of his lips.

The Doctor looked at Mycroft…before; “Sherlock and Mycroft are the sons of Valentine Holmes. Who was the daughter of Edward Fitzpatrick…the only child of Christopher…and Jenny…my daughter…” the Doctor’s eyes intense on John as he summed it up in one simple sentence; “Sherlock is…part time lord…part human.”

*****

Sherlock had been asleep for almost three hours. And here John stood again…watching and waiting.

“I know…” Clara whispered.

John didn’t so much as flinch. His frown permanent as his eyes studied and questioned every inch and part of Sherlock.

“I mean. I can imagine…” continued Clara.

John’s lips dry and tightly shut, which made his following whisper edgy and taut; “No. You really don’t…”

*****

“Ok.” John stood before them. Ready.

Mycroft and the Doctor looked up from their places now alone, as Madame Adler and Clara had excused themselves.

Slowly coming to take a seat in his previous spot, John took a _very_ long and _very_ deep breath before letting it out and swallowing; “Ok.” He looked away and then back to the Doctor. “Ok…let’s just…leave that…there for the moment…” placing his hands flat on the table and looking very much as if he were still processing. But he continued on: “Explain to me how it is that just this morning…I had a one year old Sherlock dy…well _dead_ ,” correcting himself; “in my arms and now…not only did you bring him back from the dead. But he’s gained a few years too. Around 33 give or take,” his words sounding increasingly sarcastic and bordering on angry as he looked from the Doctor, to Mycroft and then back again.

“Ah! Well…that’s a…sort of different but not entirely unrelated story,” the Doctor’s usual enthusiastic tone intact despite John’s attitude.

*****

“He said he could help…” Leonard looked despondent as his previous fighting spirit abandoned him. Caving under the weight of the law and his own guilty conscience. The truth would be his only saving grace.

“Who?” asked the tall and thin woman as she walked circles around him. She, seemingly pale and fragile, silently held the powers of gods in her hands as her small heels echoed over the white tiles of this large room.

The Shadow Proclamation; large, powerful and laying down the law.

The man hesitated looking down and away.

“I asked,” her voice stern and raised just enough to get an answer. “Who?”

The man refused to look at her but instead addressed his own lap; “Moriarty.”

*****

“Help him how?” asked John genuinely at a loss.

“Well…what are researchers usually in desperate need of?” quizzed the Doctor.

“Not in the mood,” was John’s quick response.

“Funding!” the Doctor hurried in.

“Funding?”

“Yes!” the Doctor confirmed. “And…what else?” his fingers extended as if to cue another answer out of John.

“Still not in the mood,” John reiterated.

“Humour me John,” he begged but continued. “Test subjects!”

John frowned as he sat up straighter in his chair. His collarbone tightening as his head wanted to move towards Mycroft but his eyes remained of the Doctor. “Ok…”

*****

“Moriarty offered to fund you and provide you with human test subjects?”

“Yes,” the man keeping his eyes firmly down.

“In exchange?” she asked as she stopped dead on in front of him and waited.

The answer didn’t come. So she tried again…this time, a little louder; “In exchange?!”

“In exchange of…Sherlock Holmes.”

*****

“Why?” John demanded.

*****

“How should I know?” Leonard was genuine. “Something about…some old rivalry.”

*****

“Old rivalry? How Shakespearean,” flat and unimpressed was John’s response.

“You have no idea,” the Doctor agreed. “Gets even better when I tell you that rivalry began long before those two were even born. See the Moriarty and the Holmes family were open friends and silent enemies. A situation that was exasperated by the birth of Jim. See, he was always a weak and fragile child. Always needed tending to. Constantly sick and always having to be looked after. Which was nothing but a disappointment to his father; a strong willed man who rarely wanted anything to do with him. But if that wasn’t bad enough, the birth of Sherlock brought on a whole new and much more serious turn to all this. Unlike Jim, Sherlock was a healthy and strong male…who in addition and much like his brother…he wasn’t just human but also a time lord.”

John wasn’t sure where this was going but the seriousness of it became all too obvious.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Jim’s father resorted to something truly unthinkable and frankly till this day…” the Doctor looked down in what looked like guilt and regret. “I hate that I didn’t do something sooner.”

“What. Happened?” John reiterated a little firmer.

“Sherlock. Was taken.” It was Mycroft who spoke. The man whose lips were sealed tight finally spoke up. A tremor in his voice barely caught by John. But his eyes were those of a man clearly affected.

“What do you mean taken?” asked John of him.

Mycroft took a short breath before; “The night Sherlock was brought home from the hospital…he was taken. Just gone. Our father searched…everywhere. Every corner of this universe. Put all his fortune into the search. But Sherlock…had disappeared without a trace. And remained missing…for 6 whole years.”

“Until the day that within a time rift…I literally ran into him,” the Doctor reminded John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some additional information:  
> \- Jenny's story is taken from Doctor Who: "The Doctor's Daughter" episode.  
> \- Martha and Donna were companions to the Doctor. Both now gone.
> 
> Let me know what you think so far...there is still so much more explaining to come...


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!
> 
> Ok. Round two of explanations! I really hope everything makes sense by the end of this chapter but if anything is still a little hazy or unclear please please ask me. Honestly. As I said in a comment just before I have desperately tried to explain everything but sometimes the words I write may just not be enough.
> 
> And well...we're almost there. One more chapter to go. Unfortunately I'm not even half way through the next (last) one so I think it'll maybe have to wait till the weekend. I'm not sure. We'll see..
> 
> But in the mean time enjoy!!! And see you on the other side :) xx

“That’s insane!” John stood from his chair.

“That’s the truth,” was Mycroft’s simple response.

“Do you realize what you’re saying?” John demanded. “That Sherlock…” looking over to the still but breathing body of the man in question. “That Sherlock was raised by strangers!”

“Strangers that desperately wanted him,” the Doctor added. “Don’t get me wrong but he was treated much better than their own son was.”

“That’s…” John stopped unable to rebut but instead just stare in shock. “This is…” he just…he couldn’t find the words…there _were_ no words.

Rubbing his eyes frustrated he then lowered both hands to his hips and locked his eyes on Sherlock. “How could you not…” he looked down to Mycroft; “How could you not find him?” His tone of voice escalating; “How could you possibly not find him? Why did it take you so long? Your own brother!”

“I was only a boy myself John. The Moriarty’s figured out what we were but by then it would have been too difficult to take me…so they took the most vulnerable of us two. Sherlock.”

“But…” John looked to the Doctor. “What about you? Aren’t you the all great and powerful! He’s your great grand child! Why didn’t you do anything?”

“John you cannot begin to imagine the power and technology it takes to create, actually _create_ a time rift. It takes a strength and power that you couldn’t possibly! They happen so rarely and in places so remote that they are nearly impossible to locate,” the Doctor tried to explain. “I was in search of something specific…and just happen to…” he paused; “that’s where he was. Hidden away in a lie. A family he believed to be his own.”

“I don’t believe he’s ever truly forgiven us,” whispered Mycroft.

The mood was heavy as John took his seat again.

How could this be? How could Sherlock have…lived and survived all this?

No wonder the man was they way he was. No wonder his one and only friend trusted no one. No one wonder he was a lonely soul that feared human contact. He had been let down from the start…

Regaining his voice, John whispered as his hands clenched; “You…you told me once that that boy was running for his life.” Looking up at the Doctor he asked; “What did you mean? What happened?”

“Jim wanted him dead. Simple. Sherlock had unwillingly taken from him everything that was rightfully his. And Jim, the boy no one gave a second thought to…had slowly and over the years turned into the monster you saw with your own eyes.”

John brought his hands to his face, covering his mouth with eyes that couldn’t focus.

What was all this? What…what was all this?

*****

Sherlock had been asleep for almost four hours. And guilty or not…John stood beside him. His right hand clutching tightly onto Sherlock’s left one.

*****

“With Sherlock back home, father placed a protection detail around him that Sherlock being who he is, cleverly evaded at every chance he got,” Mycroft stated.

“And with his parents dead…Jim had a very long time to wait and think,” the Doctor picked up; “Which is how Leonard found himself in the picture. Jim probably monitored and studied Sherlock’s every move for years. And once he saw the opportunity…he took it. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t and couldn’t help himself when something so experimental came within his reach.”

“What did Sherlock take in that lab? And what did it do to him?” John demanded in a low growl.

The Doctor held back for a moment; “It was a surprising mix of things…Jim’s methods and ideas alarmingly similar to those of…” the Doctor becoming distant and quieter; “a monster I previously fought against…who donated himself cell by cell to create his own children of evil…”

*****

“Explain,” demanded the woman.

“The serum Sherlock took…” Leonard continued; “had and additional set of DNA template embedded in it.”

*****

“Moriarty’s! Which is why I had to come back here!” the Doctor continued. “And why it took me so long to get back to Sherlock and reverse this before his time had run out. It wasn’t just for the large space and lovely views of this room. But because this was the last place we had seen him. I had to get back to him. I had to open the door to his world again and find what was left of him.”

*****

“Continue,” demanded the woman.

“Moriarty had provided his own DNA which had slowly begun replacing Sherlock’s,” Leonard did as asked. “He said it would eat him inside out. Slowly…painfully.”

*****

“But when he realized his own time had run out and that he himself was dying, he risked it all and took Sherlock in an action that resembled that of his own father. He needed to end it all before he died.”

John, so full of questions, could only voice so many of them; “Why didn’t he?” he whispered. “He could have killed Sherlock right here. Or the moment they went through that door. Why did he wait?”

“Because he needed _you_ there,” the Doctor pointed.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he knew what you mean to Sherlock…and he needed to make you suffer for it. He wanted you there so you could watch the only thing you love…be destroyed. He needed an audience. And he needed to watch your heart stop.”

*****

The afternoon had darkened into night and here they were…still piecing all this together.

“Why hasn’t he woken up?”

“He’s come back from the dead John. This is the only way he’ll get his energy back,” the Doctor whispered as both men stood side by side at the end of the bed.

John let the silence settle as he continued his watch over this beautiful pale creature of his.

“You still haven’t explained how you brought him back,” he stated. “And what are these things?” questioning the fluorescent green electrical circuits boards that still stood on either side of the bed.

“Oh! Well that’s easy. _Well_ not that easy considering all it took…”

“Doctor,” John prompted.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he took a deep breath; “Well…”

*****

_“Back so soon?” asked Madame Adler_

_“I need your help,” the Doctor’s words racing out of him at his usual speed. “Or rather your room. Or rather your wall,” as he squeezed his way through the small parting that Madame Adler had allowed at the door._

_“Come in,” Madame Adler amused as she watched him make his way into the room followed by Clara._

_Both women greeting with only a smile._

_With no time to waste and in definitely no mood to mess around, the Doctor headed straight for the corner of the room that he needed, moving furniture and paintings that stood in his way._

_“You know that world is broken,” Madame Adler reminded him confident in her words._

_The Doctor busy running his fingers urgently but lightly over the wall, leaning his ear against it and knocking on it here and there; “Well…good thing I always carry a bit of tape with me!” he replied enthusiastically as he stepped away from the wall and pulling out his screwdriver…he pointed._

_“You’ll only have a few minutes!” Madame Adler having to raise her voice above the loud vibrations that took over the room, as a shadow of a door appeared outlined into the wall. “Otherwise you’ll be trapped!”_

_“Don’t worry!” shouted the Doctor with his ever present playful and wide smile; “I’ll be right back!” as he and Clara hurried through the door._

*****

“She was right. There wasn’t much left of that world. As you might remember we left it in ruins. It collapsed the moment he died. Very much the same way in which that time rift collapsed when his parents were killed all those years ago leaving him to create that world as his only refuge.”

The pieces of this puzzle were right before his eyes but John kept himself quiet as he put it all together in his head.

*****

_“There’s nothing left…”_

_Clara’s words despite being whispered echoed in this desolation and darkness. The smell and silence of death embracing them._

_The Doctor looked around him. Turning in his spot with lips parted as he took it all in. His shoes stepping over ash and broken wood. His fingers moving almost nervously as they _touched_ the air around him._

_“Where do we start?” asked Clara._

*****

“I was afraid there really wouldn’t be anything left of him. Which…” the Doctor paused; “would have been the worst case scenario.” Those words measured and careful.

John didn’t even stop to consider those words. He knew only too well what they meant.

“But!” the Doctor continued; “And despite my inner battle. We found him.” His eyes sad and honest; “under all the rubble and ruin…we found him.”

John allowed the Doctor a moment to recover on his own.

“Jim…” the Doctor began. His voice soft and mindful. “He really wasn’t a bad person…” advocating with downcast eyes and chewing on his lower lip. “It wasn’t…” he paused to breathe. “It wasn’t his fault…and I will stand by that.”

John wouldn’t comment. He didn’t have anything to say.

But regaining his momentum, the Doctor continued; “So having taken a sample directly from him. I returned here to work a little magic.” His hands moving through the air as he explained. “I needed Mycroft in the same way. I needed a template of his DNA as Sherlock’s brother. And so; one template had to be removed. Whilst the other needed to be copied.”

“And that’s what this machine is for,” John filled in the gap as it all became clear.

“Yes! Well, sort of,” the Doctor becoming quite excited at John’s quiet enthusiasm. “This machine as you see it, is what took the longest time to work around,” the Doctor bounced on his toes as he circled the bed pointing out the panels on either side. “See, I recalled something I’d seen in action before and so taking that Vinvocci technology as a sample, Vinvocci are those green, spiky humanoids that…” the Doctor slowly coming to a pause realizing John was not following. “Story for another day?”

John nodded.

“Anyway…these machines have the capacity to heal whole planets by transmitting the same DNA template throughout the population. In this case of course I only needed to heal one body in particular which meant I had to downsize the technology and tailor it specifically for this.”

Stepping towards the two monitors he had kept his eyes on during the process of bringing Sherlock back, he continued; “But Sherlock not only needed the two sets of DNA templates…but also energy. He needed enough energy to set off a form of regeneration.”

John stood beside him as he watched the monitors, now only following Sherlock’s steady breathing and heart rate.

“Because of his nature Sherlock was capable of regenerating…just not the same way I can. His is weaker and needs to be boosted. Which is why I needed all this energy.”

It all made sense to John…it really did…

…but it didn’t…it really, really didn’t.

And for the moment…it didn’t matter because…

A soft exhale of air broke through his thoughts.

Looking up towards the source John immediately moved towards Sherlock’s side. 

“Looks like someone’s back,” the Doctor smiled at the sight.

Watching those thin lips slowly part, John leaned forward keeping his eyes steady on all of Sherlock’s features.

“Hey…” John whispered. “Sherlock…” softly.

It was a struggle.

Sherlock’s lips had only just parted when they closed again. Those eyes remaining firmly shut.

“Sherlock…” John’s murmur continued his hand coming to rest gently just over Sherlock’s hairline.

Swallowing through a dry mouth, Sherlock’s lips parted yet again; “Joh…”

It was too much effort. His lips closed yet again as he began to take short and quick breaths…before trying again; “Joh…”

“I’m here…” John’s voice remaining low. For just the two of them. Just between the two of them.

“Joh…n,” his voice raspy. Hoarse. Dry and cracked very much like his lips…but that voice…that croaky and broken voice…was all John needed to hear.

And it came again and again and again…a little clearer every time; “John…”

“I’m here…” John reassured him. “I’m here…”

It took strength and persistence but eventually…those eyelids slipped open.

Just a little…

Then a little more….

And a little more…

Until there they were.

Those grey blue eyes finally locked with John’s blue ones.

It was a moment, a _second_ , in which John…had never in his life felt as…relieved and as joyful and happy…

No.

No.

Those words didn’t come close to what he felt…

“Hey you…” John’s voice barely a sigh. And with a smile; “Welcome back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some little bits:  
> 1) Sherlock's back story was half told in chapter 17  
> 2) The character which is referred to as 'donated himself' to create his own 'children of evil' is Davros who revealed that he had rebuilt the Dalek race by using his own cells, leaving his internal organs exposed (creepy stuff if you ask me hehe)
> 
> So...there we are...
> 
> _NOTE: I have this terrible feeling that this chapter (and the explanation overall) sounded a lot better in my head than it did once in writing. I'm not comfortable with it and to be honest I'm very sorry._


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!  
> Well here we are!! Finally!!  
> I never realised how long or how hard it would be to type this chapter out.  
> I wanted to wrap this story up as well as I could which unfortunately means that the following and last chapter of this amazing time I've had is in fact quite long. So I do apologise beforehand. Other that I hope you enjoy and I'll see you on the other side for some final words :)

His impatience and stubbornness was unchanged. Having been awake or _alive_ rather for just over 30 minutes, Sherlock released one long exhale before lifting his torso just enough that he could turn slightly to the left and use his elbow to push himself up into a more or less sitting position. Once there and somehow already depleted of energy he paused and took a few short breaths. His eyes observing every single muscle and tendon twitch under the dry and pale skin of his arms and hands, which he seemed to be considering with certain bewilderment.

“You alright?” asked the Doctor to the right of the bed.

With a stern frown Sherlock’s actions spoke for him as he set about again this time using both his hands against the bed to support himself and swing his long legs over the left of the bed. But he wasn’t done there and despite himself he immediately came to stand with bare feet on the ground…his pride was intact. Or so it seemed…

“Woah…” Sherlock just caught the hurried whisper to his left as he suddenly felt himself lose all balance and strength. His knees buckling under him weak and unsteady as his eyes closed heavily against his will.

…but he never made it to the ground. Something or rather _someone_ was holding him firmly up.

Oh John…

The hand that had silently and almost imperceptibly guided him up and off the bed was there. At all times holding him up.

And yet; “I’m fine,” Sherlock mumbled between tight lips as sternly as his weak voice would allow. His eyes steady towards the ground.

In response to his attitude Sherlock received nothing but silence. Instead he was slowly guided to lean against the side of the bed. Once there he was held onto for a little longer before those fingers slowly eased their pressure against his skin and then finally came away all together setting Sherlock’s fine hairs on end as John’s figure stepped aside and then slowly began to walk away. Blinking rapidly his eyes wandered up and followed John’s trajectory feeling his chest compress and the organ beneath beat a little bit faster. A physiological response he didn’t much like and much less commented on.

Watching with interest the exchange between the two men, the Doctor slowly moved around the bed and towards Sherlock on the other side mirroring him by leaning against it. Whilst one man stood with his modesty barely concealed by a white sheet that only just gripped onto his hips, the man in the bow tie stood with arms crossed and eyes straight forward.

In time Sherlock’s breathing had attuned. At least enough for; “Took your time,” the hoarse whisper of a voice that had not been used in days…months. The few words draining the air out of his lungs forcing him to take a rather long and deep breath…but despite his aching throat; “You only had 155 days to do something and you wait till I’m dead,” his tone aiming towards annoyed and angry yet not quite making it there.

“Oi! Respect your elders…” was the Doctor’s rather playful response. “Besides,” he continued offhandedly; “for 154 of those days, I’m not sure you actually _wanted_ to come back…” his eyes gaining an extra sparkle as they returned to Sherlock and ended his statement with a wink.

In typical youth rebellion…well in comparison to his present ‘elder’, Sherlock rolled his eyes and refused to comment altogether. Which for the Doctor may well have been an admission gaining Sherlock nothing more than a wider and knowing smile from the man.

A comfortable silence grew slowly between them…

…but there was a question burning at the tip of Sherlock’s tongue; “Jim?”

The Doctor turned his head only enough to have Sherlock clearly in his view; “Gone.” The word delivered in a whisper dipped in such sadness and regret.

Their previous silence was reconvened as both men turned their heads in opposite directions. Now each in their own thoughts.

Until; “I used to worry about you,” the Doctor thoughtful and absent. “Every day,” his eyes never leaving the horizon; “a constant…” he drifted. But as his eyes registered the blonde man with strong strides heading back towards them carrying in his hands a pair of folded black suit pants and a crisp white dress shirt; “not anymore it seems…”

*****

Despite helping Sherlock into his clothes and guiding him slowly into the TARDIS, neither man had traded a single word to each other and eye contact had remained to an absolute minimum.

It was a bizarre and tense atmosphere for all concerned and an even stranger performance to witness. Two men relying on each other and though perhaps a little stiff in motions, seemingly quite content with being in each others presence but completely incapable of wording their current emotions.

“Well!” was the first word that filled the air amongst them since they’d left Shan Shen. “Home sweet home!” announced the Doctor bouncing slightly on his heels at the foot of 221 Baker Street.

They may not have spoken but John remained observant, which is how he noticed the faint and unremarked pause in Sherlock’s gait at the sound of those words.

Unaware the Doctor raised his eyes up the length of the building and then turned back towards his companions. The tall detective the first to reach him made nothing more than an acknowledging sound towards the Doctor and with the smallest of bows to his head made his way through the threshold.

John however, paused before entering. There were so many things he wanted to say. So many more questions he still had. He wasn’t finished with this. In fact who knew if he ever would be. But he was also tired and felt like nothing more but to collapse on his bed and sleep. Which is why instead of everything else he was meaning to say the only thing that came out as he raised his eyes to the Doctor was; “Thank you.”

The Doctor offered him a gentle smile. The ones he reserves for those he genuinely cherishes and then he whispered. “No. Thank _you_.”

John’s eyes narrowed curiously. But before he could even compose anything the Doctor was well back on his way to the TARDIS from where Clara waved a simple; “Bye!” to him from.

Watching the blue box disappear out of sight left John with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe much less put into words. He wasn’t sure what awaited him upstairs so stepping in and closing the door behind him, he took one apprehensive step after the next up and up towards the 221B.

Had he been there he would have seen Sherlock stop dead at the door of the flat exactly in the same spot that John’s feet came to a stop only minutes later. And in a moment which Sherlock had used to reacquaint himself with his old home and judge with keen eyes everything that was _not_ where it should be. John instead felt himself wake from a dream. The kick when you’re slipping into an abyss.

His home…was gone.

Three onsies and a singlet he had left to finish drying on the arm of the sofa.

They were gone.

The two dirty bibs that he had intended to remove from the top of the ottoman. 

They were gone…along with the ottoman.

The half empty bottle of formula he had left on the desk beside the lamp.

It was gone.

Everything…was gone.

And instead…

The coffee table was back. The sofa was pushed back the whole way back against the wall.

The soft rug they had slept on and played on and spent so much time on…

It was gone.

What was this place?

Was this home? Again? As it once was…

Whatever it was…it was too much.

Enough to suddenly tighten his chest, seal his throat and burn his eyes with tears.

He felt so unlike himself but his body was reacting to everything internal that he perhaps did not want to acknowledge.

He couldn’t make into the flat…he simply couldn’t. Something held him at the door and so instead he found himself turning and making his way up the last flight of stairs towards his room. His _own_ room.

He hadn’t been there in so long. He’d wandered in and out briefly only when he was in search of something that he might have needed. But he hadn’t actually inhabited the room in what felt like a lifetime.

It was icy and smelt of…emptiness. A strange and hollow place that he didn’t quite recognize. But this was his space and accustomed to it he would have to become. So with a distraught heart and a heavy weight on him…he closed the door behind him and entirely defeated he slid down to the floor with his back against the wood…and cried. Just cried.

*****

He had made it into his bed. The sheets wrapped around him tightly though they didn’t seem enough to warm him up. That sense of loneliness and isolation was still living in the shadows of his room.

With eyes raw and swollen from his tears there was no chance of sleep for him tonight and having lost complete notion of time he only realized a minute ago that it was 4:32 in the morning and that he had been within his four walls since their return.

As he turned in his bed to face the ceiling it suddenly dawned on him of the stillness and silence that dwelled in this flat. He hadn’t heard a single sound in all these hours. For all he knew Sherlock was not even present. He may well not be. He wasn’t a child anym…

John stopped.

Yes. That was right. Sherlock was _not_ a child anymore.

Closing his eyes against the thought he felt his muscles tense up at the unexpected sound of creaking wood that caught his ear.

The third step from top down.

The third step away from his door.

He knew that. He had stepped on it too many times before. It was the third step to his room.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep that night.

As the door slowly and carefully slid open allowing a cold breeze in, a tall and lanky figure stood uncertain. And though cautious he was also undeterred as he took two steps in and closed the door behind him.

John shifted in his bed more as a prompt than actual need. The space beside him had always been there…ready and available to be occupied by that _someone else_ in his life.

As the bed dipped under the new weight the sheets were soon enough unceremoniously tugged off of him. Appropriating the space and bed.

He let it. With a smile on his face unseen in the dark…John simply let it.

With Sherlock now on his back nicely tucked in, John turned his own body to face him and came to rest an open palm on Sherlock’s chest. Hand which was soon wrapped in Sherlock’s larger one. Their fingers rising and falling. Steady.

Their breathing evened out and appeared timed. One with the other.

There was no awkwardness. There was no fear of judgement or repercussion.

It was natural. Intimate. It was there and there was no reason to question it.

And though it wasn’t immediate, they were lying in silence for a long while in fact, before either of them despite the early hours of the morning…slowly drifted into a long a peaceful sleep. The first time for either of them in what felt like a lifetime.

*****

John awoke to the whisper of gentle raindrops painting the windows of his bedroom. But that wasn’t all he discovered as his eyes looked down and found himself trapped under 6 feet worth of human. It was an all too familiar sight for John who watched those curls rise and fall to the rhythm of his breathing many nights before.

It was strange to lie here and consider the things that in any other time would not have even crossed his mind. These were the things he would never put into words because he didn’t have to and didn’t need to. There were things that remained and would forever remain between Sherlock and himself…

Intimate secrets. Inside jokes. Childhood fears.

True loves even…perhaps…

But whatever happened between those walls, in the solitude and silence of their flat once the doors were closed and the blinds were drawn…was for only them to know.

And so lying here with the fingertips of his left hand dancing absentmindedly and ever so gently over the tips of those thick black curls…John drifted…

Drifted to all those things that had always been there. That almost incidental child-like quality to Sherlock. John had seen it in glimpses. A certain action here. A certain mannerism there. A word or a twitch or a pout. Things which their recent circumstance had done nothing but altered and intensified his own fatherly, and brooding nature. Which in itself made him question his own behaviour towards Sherlock. Had he been treating him like a child long before all this? If he had it was unintentional. Or was it…

Of all the unhealthy relationships he’d been attached to…this was by far the strangest and most delightful of them all. Would it be horrible to say it bordered on Stockholm? What was it about them? What was it about their relationship? Because yes that’s what this was. This had long ago gone beyond simple friendship. This was a relationship. A strange one. An unnatural one even. But it was theirs. It was how they had decided to be. It was the life he’d chosen…

“Stop thinking…you’re too loud.”

John smiled with such genuine and immense joy he was certain Sherlock had felt the ripples of it.

Trust Sherlock to return to the world with nothing but criticism.

*****

It was late afternoon by the time they made it into the kitchen.

His phone had been ringing incessantly and so had Sherlock’s. He knew who it was. He knew what their questions were. What he didn’t know was where to begin. Besides if there were explanations to be given...they would start with each other first.

“It’s frustrating.”

For however long it had been Sherlock had sat at the table looking absorbed in his own thoughts. His hands clasped together with his back rod straight.

John had floated about the kitchen arranging and rearranging. Everything was back in its place along with everything he wished _wasn’t_. The microscope occupied its previous position on the table…and John knew that was only the beginning.

But he was hungry and he assumed Sherlock was too…and even if he wasn’t he would make the man eat a decent meal.

“Not being able to…” Sherlock paused. His voice was not upset or angered in any way. It was rather analytic. As if his mind was processing all these emotions into practical blocks that he could set aside and study individually.

John had stopped and turned to him. Food left mid way.

Sherlock’s lips came back together looking as if he was finished with that thought.

Moving to stand just behind Sherlock, John placed both hands gently but firmly on Sherlock’s shoulders just where they met with his neck. The action clearly catching Sherlock by surprise as the muscles beneath John’s hands tightened and the fine hairs beneath jumped on end. A single breathe catching in his chest. But despite that John remained there. Holding him as seconds and minutes went by.

And that was enough. Enough for Sherlock to slowly give in. His back slowly arching and loosening into the touch.

“All in time Sherlock. All in time.”

*****

And it was time that slowly went by.

Days and weeks in which life had slowly returned to their same old pattern and people had received their respective explanations;

Missus Hudson had simply welcomed Sherlock back.

Sarah remained in denial despite John’s extensive and elaborate explanations.

And Lestrade though still digesting and feeling strange about his own reality and place in this world…was quite content with having his consulting detective back.

But despite life continuing as it were, it wasn’t to say John hadn’t noticed certain… _changes_. 

*****

_“Where are you going?”_

_John stopped and turned from where he was gathering his essentials from the coffee table._

_“Um…just down to the shops,” he spoke looking towards the exit and then back to Sherlock who stood at the door of the kitchen._

_‘Why?’ John wondered._

_The tall man stood looking very much unsteady on his feet. Like they were desperate to move but he wasn’t entirely sure where to. His eyes avoiding John’s at all times and his lips on the edge of stating something until they did…_

_“Should I…come with you?” asked Sherlock looking surprised at his own words._

_John’s hands clenched around the objects he’d picked up the same way his heart clenched in his chest._

_It had happened more and more often. Not something terribly obvious for all to see but it was certainly becoming a constant;_

_Sherlock’s need to know where John was at all times. Searching for him either in their flat or any other place John might have been._

_It was the look in Sherlock’s eyes or the hidden tones in his voice…that brought John to a stop. It was those moments that reminded John constantly of Sherlock’s history. Of his past. Of his traumas. And the fact that Sherlock, the genius individual who didn’t need anyone…had chosen him. John. This simple old soldier and doctor…to trust and keep him safe. To ground him. To aid him and protect him._

_To protect each other._

_And so in every single one of those moments from now on John would smile and enjoy his place by Sherlock’s side._

*****

**3 MONTHS LATER**

Sherlock stepped into what used to be his room.

It was still very much in use. It was his getaway-from-everything room.

But since his shift to John’s room he had since not spent a single night in this room.

But it was here that he kept the things he needed. From the most superfluous to the most essential. From the things that John wouldn’t allow him to take into their room to the things John didn’t need to see.

And it was here as he sat on the edge of his bed that he turned between his long fingers the small blue velvet box. The box that was intended for him on the occasion of his first birthday. The box that had remained on the bedside table and which John long ago had thought was long lost.

He had deduced what it contained the moment he had set eyes on it. But it was never to be confirmed as he refused to tamper with it. Refused to open it. Because it was not about what it contained…but rather whom it was from and with what emotions it was brought with. 

So instead he kept it hidden amongst his possessions. Only to be drawn out on days like these. Days in which he felt unsteady and unsure of his own footing. It didn’t happen often. Not that he would admit to…but it happened.

But this…this brought him back. This settled his mind and pinned him back into reality. His reality. It reminded him of that one person in the world that had never judged him. That had never called him anything other than his own name. That appreciated his existence on this earth. It reminded him of that person that had held him all those mornings and nights in which he was frustrated or tired or scared. In pain or sadness. Even in happiness. It was there. Because the thing about time lords is they can never forget. And the thing about humans is often they don’t want to forget.

“Sherlock!” a voice called for him from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Come on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! That's it from me! :)
> 
> THANK YOU - EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU INCREDIBLE READERS!
> 
> When I first started I had no idea where this was going to go or for how long but it has honestly been amazing! For me to put my writing to be read and commented and criticised. It truly is amazing. So again thank you and I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I did.
> 
> Thank you and God bless!!!!! :) xxx


	37. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and just a little one because I couldn't help myself

**DAY 155**

On the bed. Between the two panels. John slowly lowered Sherlock feeling cold as their two bodies finally came apart.

That little body having gained by now that awful color of death.

With one last touch…John stepped away and to the side. Close enough that he could see everything but nowhere near anyone else.

The Doctor…whispering to himself…“Alright…don’t let me down…”

His fingers running madly over a keyboard until he finally looked up towards the panels and the bed…and that little body…and with an inner prayer...pressed ENTER.

The room seemed to fill with energy as the walls began to vibrate and the machine gained life. Electric currents began running wild and visible to the human eye.

John was still. Terrified really. But like the Doctor, more than anything…he prayed. In silence. Just prayed. A chant. A plea. ‘Please. Please. Please. Please. Please Sherlock. Please come back. Please don’t leave me here…please.’

Something…was happening…something had…

Little arms and legs…they…they gained a golden color. It was…like rays of golden light…emitting. Extending from him…what was that? What was happening to him? Through his lips. Through his closed eyes…just golden light.

John wished he could have seen. He wished he could have kept his eyes fixed. But the light was just too strong. Too intense. Too blinding.

He couldn’t handle it having to look down and away. But he could feel it. He could feel the energy and strength bouncing off his skin…

He couldn’t see anything. It was just too bright…too bright…

But that didn’t mean he didn’t hear…oh he heard it…

A loud and painful inhale which ended in the broken but sharp cries of a child.

It was the strong and desperate intake of air…of a bub.

Against the light. Against the brightness…he just had to see…he had to see…

He could just make it out…his eyes burning with the light but he could just make out…

A small and chubby naked child…

His baby! With little lungs pulling in air desperately.

Small hands with tiny fingers…radiating light as they clutched tight.

And those eyes…those beautiful eyes…the ones he thought he’d never see again…they gained life as they snapped open.

Sherlock…his baby boy…was back.

*****

“So what now?” John questioned from the side of the bed as he hovered over and watched his little boy sleep his tiredness away.

“He’s alive.” A simple statement from the Doctor who stood beside him.

John smiled. A genuine joyous smile.

Yes.

His little boy was back. He was alive.

And all that was great. It was fantastic. It had brought _him_ back to life too.

The Doctor had spent the better half of the day explaining or at least attempting to explain and be understood…

*****

_“…so although I could initiate the regeneration process in him and therefore bring him back…the aging of cells is…a completely different story…” the Doctor sounding slightly disappointed in himself. A disappointment that John did not agree with. How could he? His little boy was back! If anything he had everything to thank this man…this _time lord_ for!_

_“All that is…fine. Really…it’s fine but…what I need to know is,” John asked; “is he ok? Is he fine? Is he healthy?” his fatherly worry evident in his voice._

_“He’s fine.” The Doctor firm and confident in his answer. “He’s fine. His DNA has been rewritten and he is now a fully functioning and perfectly healthy one year old.”_

_John smiled. He was too elated. Too happy; “Thank you! Really thank you! That’s all I need to know.”_

_His head turned in the direction of his little boy sound asleep._

_“John,” the Doctors tone deep and serious enough that John immediately turned to him. “That’s not it.”_

_Immediately he had John’s attention again._

_“What do you mean?” John asked just as grave. “You just said he’s fine. Is he or isn’t he?” demanding._

_“He’s fine John. Health wise he is perfectly fine.”_

_“Then what is it?”_

_The Doctor paused before; “It’s _him_ …it’s…his age. This is it John. Sherlock is not going back. He will grow at the pace of a child. At the normal pace of a human. Year after year.”_

_He let that sink in before; “Furthermore…” the Doctor hesitated. “Sherlock’s memory has been erased. He will not remember you or anyone. His mind has been erased to a complete blank and will start from zero.”_

*****

Sherlock had woken up full of energy it seemed. He was sitting up in bed after four hours of sleep and was currently thoroughly entertained with John’s little game. He would playfully tease the boy by presenting him his phone but then quickly hiding it from sight. Any other child would have cried and demanded the object. But not Sherlock. Sherlock instead watched John’s hands carefully and then almost desperately lunged for the side of John that he believed the object was held in.

The giggles that came from both of them were contagious…

The sight itself was enough to make any man smile…even Mycroft who had watched the game between the two unfold. And so he had given them some time to continue until he saw himself forced to step in…as matters of business could no longer wait.

Silently making his way to John’s side beside the bed he waited for the right moment.

The boy continued with his game completely enveloped in it and paying no notice to the new man who had joined them.

“Did you need something?” asked John keeping his eyes and most of his attention on Sherlock and their current activity. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t caught sight of the black leather bound dossier gripped tightly in Mycroft’s hands.

The older man waited in silence. His eyes also fixed on the child.

“As I had feared that something like this would happen,” he then began. “I had to make some… _arrangements_ ”

John continued with his game though his attention was quickly shifting towards Mycroft.

“What kind of arrangements?” he asked.

“Necessary ones.”

Mycroft moved his eyes away from Sherlock and down to the leather in his hands. He seemed to consider it carefully. As if what was held within was life changing and defining. But as he angled the folder towards John…he seemed to have his convictions in place.

John looked at folder for quite a while before placing the phone down in front of Sherlock and taking the offering in his hands. Sherlock, it seemed, had been interested in the _game_ between the two and _not_ the phone itself because despite having aimed his hands for it once it was within reach…he quickly ignored it and instead looked up towards John who had by now opened the file.

“What is this?” John asked well aware by now _what_ this was but needing clarification from the man himself.

“You know what it is John. The question is…what do you wish to do?”

John was stunned. Shocked and completely caught by surprise.

Slowly he made his way through form after form after form…for a legal adoption.

“With both our parents deceased,” Mycroft began. “As the eldest he is my full responsibility…” he paused.

John turned his eyes from the paperwork to Sherlock who continued to watch John quietly from the bed.

“However,” Mycroft continued; “before I make any further decisions…this felt like the right course of action. This is not something to be taken lightly John and I do not expect you to make a decision here…”

“Yes.” John cut Mycroft’s speech off clean. He didn’t need to hear it. He didn’t need to think. In fact he was almost insulted that this was even questioned. The answer was made for him. The moment Sherlock's little eyes made contact with his…the answer was made for him. “Yes.” He reiterated.

Placing the open dossier down to one side of Sherlock he watched those little arms aim for him as John quickly took him in his arms and cradled him against his chest feeling those little arms try their hardest to wrap around his neck.

“Yes.” Once again. “Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and the possibilities beyond this moment...are endless! :)


End file.
